Loyalty
by isabella2004
Summary: When the worst act imaginable is committed against Emma Jane, Michaela tries to make her see sense. Sequel to 'Road to Heartbreak.' EPILOGUE NOW UP!
1. Default Chapter

**Sequel to Road to Heartbreak**

**All the usual disclaimers!**

She remembered his smell more than anything else. His body held a mixture of odours, sweat, tobacco, and a strong stench of whisky that caught in her throat and made her want to vomit. She wasn't used to it. Her husband had his own unique scent, once which she had held her breath against the first time he had made love to her, but which she had grown to love over the years. Now, she was being forced to accept a new smell.

At first, she hadn't known exactly what his intentions were. He had been there the whole evening, sitting drinking and joking with the other men. He had cast his eye lasciviously over the working girls, allowing them to sit on his knee and fondle his hair. But he hadn't taken any of them up on their offers of pleasure. Instead, he had drunk more, until his gait was unsteady as he crossed the room to the bar to order more.

Perhaps she should have refused to serve him, but her husband had always told her never to refuse a paying customer, no matter how many he'd already had. So she had poured him more and more whisky and prayed to God he would soon leave. But he had remained, right until the very end, one of the remaining stragglers who seemed reluctant to go home. Eventually, along with one of the other girls, she had managed to get him outside long enough to be able to lock up. He had lurched away up the street and she had breathed a sigh of relief.

Locking the doors, she had leaned against them briefly, glad another long day was over. It was hard running the saloon alone, but her husband had been called away on business and, faced with her expression of dubiety at being able to handle the saloon by herself, had flashed her his trademark grin, pushed her hair behind her ear and told her if there was anyone he could trust to do it right, it was her.

As she had been about to go upstairs, she had realised that the trash was still sitting behind the bar, an oversight by one of the girls. Sighing, she had lifted the box, walked through the kitchen and opened the back door of the saloon to place it outside. That had been when it had happened. Rough hands had grabbed her from behind, one clamped over her mouth preventing her from screaming, from even breathing. She had felt herself being pulled backwards away from the saloon and over towards the stables. He had thrown her down onto the hard ground and landed on top of her. She had tried to cry out, to fight back, but his body was too strong, his will too insistent.

She had felt his hands pulling up her skirts, trying to get at the soft flesh beneath. She had kicked him, which only seemed to spur him on more. He entered her forcefully, momentarily taking her breath away. In the ten years since she had opened herself up to a man's pleasure, it had only ever been with the one man and had given her more enjoyment than she would ever have dreamed of admitting to anyone. Now, it was all lost in one moment.

When he was done, he didn't say anything to her. He stood up, pulled his pants back up and stumbled away from the stable, leaving her lying, exposed and terrified on the ground. It took her a long time before she could even find the strength to sit up, to pull her skirts back down, to even realise the magnitude of what had just happened to her. Slowly, she got to her feet, holding onto the wall for support. As she hobbled out of the stable back towards the saloon, she was struck by just how silent the town was. There were no voices, no animal noises, no hoof beats, nothing.

She reached the back door of the saloon and pushed it open, putting herself back in the kitchen. The building was silent, everything as it had been before she had gone outside. With trembling fingers, she locked the door, doubly checking it to ensure there was no way he could get it. Then, she walked through the kitchen and slowly pulled herself up the stairs, wanting the comfort and sanctity of her bedroom.

The girls were all in bed, none of them challenged her as she made her way along the hallway to her room. She paused at the door of her daughter's room and peered in. She was lying, her blonde curls fanned out on the pillow under her head. Innocent. She stepped back and hurried back down to her own room. Closing the door behind her, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, parts of her hair pulled out from her hairclip, her face pale and drawn, tears she didn't even know she had shed lying on her cheeks. She moved forward to the basin next to the bed, poured from the jug until it was almost full and then splashed her face, scrubbing it viciously as if wanting to wash away the memory.

Her dress seemed to cling to her, reminding her of his body. Grappling with the buttons, she wrenched it from her, tossing it on the floor and kicking it across the room. She pulled her slip up and, taking the cloth, washed between her legs. It hurt, and when she pulled the cloth back there was blood on it. Shakily, she sat down on the edge of the bed. In the space of a few short moments, her life had changed forever. This thing that had happened to her…she knew she couldn't ever tell her husband. He would never understand, would never want to touch her again and his sense of honour would mean he would be determined to track down her attacker and kill him. She didn't know if she could stand that.

Pulling the covers out from under her, she slid into bed, covering her body right up to her neck, shielding herself from nothing and everything. For hours, she lay awake, her mind reliving the whole horrible experience, her body shaking at the thought of his hands, his mouth, his body…

As the sky lightened, and the night gave way to morning, Emma Jane Lawson wept.

TBC


	2. Chapter Two

**I hope no-one thinks that by writing this, I'm trying to turn Emma Jane into some kind of Mary-Sue martyr who suffers. I'm not, I'm just trying to show how she would deal with something like this in the climate of the time.**

**All the usual disclaimers!**

The day hadn't begun properly when Hank rode back into Colorado Springs. The shutters were still drawn, there was no sign of life. He liked it when it was quiet, nothing but the sound of his horse's hooves on the dusty ground. It was going to be a warm day, he could tell by the lack of breeze and the fact that he was sweating like a pig.

Drawing up outside the saloon, he looked up at the bedroom window, where the curtains were still drawn. If there was one thing he had missed most in the week since he had been away in Soda Springs, it was Emma Jane, and the first thing he was going to do was show her just how much he had missed her.

Hank jumped down and tied the horse to the post before mounting the porch and unlocking the front door of the saloon. Stepping inside, he surveyed the tidy bar and grinned to himself, He had to give his wife credit, the place was looking good. Glancing up, he made his way to the stairs and climbed them slowly, trying to avoid them creaking. When he reached the top, he made his way to Victoria's room and looked in on his sleeping daughter, his heart swelling just at the sight of her. She was so perfect, so precious. He would never have thought that he could have loved a child, that he could have been a good father. But whenever Victoria smiled at him or held out her chubby little arms, he was glad he had helped create her.

He closed the door and headed for his bedroom. Opening the door, he saw Emma Jane lying on her back in the middle of the bed, the sheet drawn right up to her neck. He smiled, closed the door and moved over to the bed, slowly climbing on it and crawling over to his wife. Her forehead was creased in anxiety and he kissed it gently. Then he kissed down her face to her mouth.

Somewhere, deep in her troubled sleep, Emma Jane felt something. Pressure on her body, on her face, and a smell, a smell of sweat, a smell that jumped out at her and assaulted her senses. It was him, it had to be him. Somehow he had gotten inside the saloon, he had come back to take her again. Summoning all her strength, she lashed out, catching whoever it was across the face, causing them to yelp. She dragged herself to the surface, swimming against the oppressing power of her foggy mind and suddenly, everything burst into reality and she could hear her own scream.

"Emma Jane!" she recognised Hank's voice and forced her eyes open. He was staring down at her, his expression one of concern combined with a trace of annoyance.

"Hank?" her voice was scratchy.

"The hell ya scratchin' me for?" he demanded.

"What?" her mind was still jumbled.

"Just got back, thought I'd come up and show ya how much I'd missed ya, and I git hit in the face for my troubles."

Emma Jane pulled herself into a sitting position, "I'm…I'm sorry," she said, "I guess I was dreaming."

"Yeah, well…" Hank sat back, "Saloon looks all right."

"Uh…yeah," Emma Jane replied, "It's…it's been busy, but we've…we've managed." She realised she was still gripping the bed sheet up around her body and she let it drop, exposing her bare shoulder.

"That's more like it," Hank grinned, dropping a kiss on her shoulder, "Missed ya. Soda Springs is awful lonely."

Emma Jane wanted to be sick. As his lips moved around her shoulder, she tried to stop herself from shaking, but an involuntary shiver passed through her body.

"Cold?" Hank asked, lifting his head to look at her.

She avoided his eyes, "Well, it is early."

"Gonna be a scorcher," he informed her, "but I guess ya could git cold bein' in this bed all by yerself," he kissed her neck, "I can warm ya up," he moved to push her back down into the bed, but she resisted.

"Hank…the girls might hear." She laughed nervously.

"Ain't never bothered ya before."

"Well…what about Vicky? She could wake up at any moment and you know how she fusses and cries. She'd wake the whole place."

"Was dead to the world when I looked in on her," he told her, refusing to be swayed, "Sides, I bin lookin' forward to this." He tried to kiss her on the mouth but she twisted away from him.

Angered at the thought he was going to be refused, Hank grabbed her chin and yanked her face around to his, "Ain't gonna refuse me, are ya?" She didn't reply, "I'm yer husband."

And that was the mentality of all married men. Their wives had no legal right to refuse them access to their bodies. A husband could be neither convicted of nor condemned for forcing his wife into intercourse. Emma Jane knew, that while in ten years of marriage Hank had never forced himself on her, he was savvy enough to claim his marital rights.

Taking a deep breath, she turned back to him, "You're right," she forced a smile, "And I _have_ missed you."

Hank grinned and pushed her back onto the bed. Closing her eyes, Emma Jane tried to focus on something, anything, to stop the feeling of panic which threatened to rise within her. She mentally rewound her memory back to the last time Hank had made love to her, before he left for Soda Springs. Then, she had been willing and eager, her body responding to his touch, arching herself against him, drowning in the sheer ecstasy of the act. Now, she bit her lip, unable to think of anything but her attacker bearing down on her, grunting in her ear.

SSSSS

Hank had been right, it was a scorcher of a day and as Emma Jane carried Victoria out into the morning sunshine, she tried to banish all thoughts of what had happened from her mind. Around her, Colorado Springs was coming to life. Loren was sweeping his porch across from her and he looked up as she emerged. Their relationship was still slightly strained. Even after two years, he still partly blamed her for Abigail's death and while he served her in his store, there was a barrier between them which, for all her attempts over the years, she had never been able to break.

Today, however, her relationship with Loren was the last thing on her mind. She scanned the streets, wondering if she would see him coming towards her. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was his face and all she could hear was his voice. She had cried off working that morning, claiming fatigue. Hank, believing it was due to the welcome home she had given him had grinned and agreed, pulling her to him before she left, whispering in her ear that he would ready for another round whenever she was. She had smiled at him, but her insides had churned at the very prospect.

Glancing towards the boarding house, she felt a sudden ache for Charlotte. Her dear friend had passed away from a snake bite three months earlier. Their new arrival, Doctor Michaela Quinn, had done everything she could, but Charlotte had still died, leaving Matthew, Colleen and Brian in Dr Quinn's care. It was still the talk of the town. The boarding house now housed Dr Quinn's medical clinic, however many locals were still sceptical.

As if by magic, the door to the clinic opened and Dr Quinn appeared. Upon catching sight of Emma Jane, she waved and called to her.

"Emma Jane!"

Emma Jane forced a smile on her face and walked forward to greet her, "Good morning Doctor Quinn."

"Oh, Michaela, please. I mean, it's nice to be recognised for your profession, especially as a woman, but it's so much nicer if people…I'm sorry, I'm babbling."

"No, no," Emma Jane reassured her, "Michaela. It's a pretty name."

"Yes, well, my father was expecting a boy," Michaela smiled at Victoria, "She's so beautiful."

Emma Jane looked at her daughter, "Yes, she is," she replied quietly.

"She's very fair."

"Takes after her father."

"Has she had a proper medical check?" Michaela asked.

The tone of her words forced Emma Jane to put the incident temporarily out of her head. Any query as to her child's health took precedence, "Well, Charlotte checked her after she was born, I…she hasn't had any illnesses since. Well, apart from the occasional cold, but I didn't think that was anything to be concerned about."

"Oh it isn't, I'm sorry if I alarmed you," Michaela said, "When babies reach the age of two years, it always good to give them a check, just to make sure everything's progressing as it should. I could see her now, if you're not busy."

"Well…" Emma Jane glanced back over to the saloon. Hank was still wary of the whole 'woman doctor' thing and she knew he would be less than impressed.

"To be honest, you'd be doing me the favour," Michaela continued, "If people see that you've brought your daughter to me, they might be more encouraged to come themselves."

"Ok," Emma Jane said, "What harm can it do?"

"Great!" Michaela led her into the clinic and gestured to her to put Victoria on the bed.

Emma Jane glanced around at the room, surprised at how different it looked, "I don't recognise the place."

"It took a while to get everything into order," Michaela replied, "but I think I've finally got it sorted." She looked in Victoria's eyes, "Take a seat."

Emma Jane moved and sat down in one of the available seats, wincing as pain shot through her abdomen. Michaela caught sight of her discomfort.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she reassured her.

"You look as though you're in pain."

"I'm fine," Emma Jane said again, more firmly.

"It would be no problem for me to take a look."

"You wanted to examine Victoria, and I brought her here, _don't _start on me!" the harsh words were out before she could stop them. Michaela said nothing, instead turning back to Victoria and looking in her ears. "I'm sorry," Emma Jane said, "that was rude and uncalled for."

"It's all right," Michaela replied, "I had no right to push, I'm sorry."

"No, I…" Emma Jane sighed heavily, "I'm just having a bad morning, that's all."

"You must be relieved Hank's back," Michaela said.

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, from what I understand, the saloon's a busy place to be running on your own."

"Oh," Emma Jane smiled wanly, "Well, the girls help. We've managed to keep the place ticking over." She changed direction, "How are the children?"

Michaela sighed, "Missing their mother terribly. I'm trying my best to get them to open up to me and trust me, but it's not easy. I'm not a mother and now I have three children."

"It's been hard for them," Emma Jane said, "they loved Charlotte very much."

"You were close to her?" Michaela asked, listening to Victoria's chest.

"We were good friends. She always gave me sound advice and she delivered Victoria."

"Well…" Michaela straightened up and lifted Victoria off of the bed, "Everything here looks fine." She handed her back to Emma Jane, "She's in perfect health."

"Thank you," Emma Jane felt for her purse, "How much do I owe you?"

"Oh, nothing. It was a pleasure."

Thank you," Emma Jane opened the door, "I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier."

"Don't worry about it. We all get stressed sometime," Michaela walked her out onto the porch, "Perhaps we could have lunch sometime?"

"I'd like that," Emma Jane replied, "I know what it's like to be the new girl in town."

Michaela opened her mouth to respond when, all of a sudden, Sully came running up towards the clinic looking harassed, "Doctor Mike!"

"Sully?" Michaela replied.

"There's sickness on the reservation. Cloud Dancing says his medicine's not working. Can you come take a look?"

"Of course," Michaela hurried back into the clinic to get her bag.

"Emma Jane," Sully nodded to her.

"Sully," she replied. So far, their relationship had never recovered from Abigail's death either, but she wasn't in the frame of mind to try and repair it now, "I hope things aren't too bad at the reservation."

"What do you care?" he asked, "You don't know or understand the Indians. You spend too much time listening to Hank's poison."

"You're right," she replied, moving past him, "I don't."

SSSSS

"Whatcha thinkin' bout?" Hank murmured in her ear that evening as she served behind the bar. The saloon was busy as usual, and Emma Jane had been serving relentlessly for what seemed like hours.

"Nothing," she replied.

"Don't believe ya," he leaned across the bar in front of her, "Somethin' botherin' ya?"

"No," she replied quickly, "I…Sully came to the clinic today to ask Michaela to go to the reservation with him."

"The hell for?"

"Apparently some of the Indians were sick. He thought Michaela could maybe help."

"Yeah, well, Sully does seem to love them Injuns," Hank mused. Then a thought struck him, "What were ya doin' in the clinic anyhow?"

Emma Jane wiped up some beer with a bar cloth, "She offered to give Vicky a check-up."

"And ya took her?"

"She's a doctor, Hank. Anyway, everything was fine."

"And how much did _that _cost?" he demanded.

"Nothing, she did it for free."

"Don't get nothin' fer free, Emma Jane. Ya know that."

"Sure, Hank," she replied wearily, turning to serve another customer. Just as she was finishing serving, the door to the saloon flew open and a man she recognised as Alan Lawrence stumbled in. He looked angry, furious even and he lurched to the bar.

"Need a drink," he demanded.

"Sure," Emma Jane poured him a whisky, which he downed in one gulp and gestured for another. She poured it and again he drank it down and asked for another.

Hank, watching the scenario unfold, took a long drag on his cigarette and ambled lazily over, "Knockin' em back there Alan."

"So would you," Alan replied gruffly, but his voice shook, "What they did to her…"

"Did to who?" Hank asked.

Alan raised his eyes, "My wife, my Martha…" his voice broke, "Savages! Damn savages!" He thumped the bar for emphasis, and the room fell silent. "They just took her!"

"Who did?" Emma Jane asked.

"Them Injuns. They just came right in…and took her!"

"Your wife's been kidnapped?" Emma Jane was horrified.

Alan shook his head sorrowfully, "No, she's at home, but…they left her…bleedin' and everythin'!" He took another long drink of whisky, "I gotta find em. I gotta kill em all!"

"Ain't makin' much sense," Hank said, "What happened?"

"They raped my Martha!" Alan declared.

Emma Jane felt her breath catch in her throat and she gripped onto the bar for support. There was that word, the one that had been resounding in her head but which she had so far refused to give voice to.

"You…saw them?" she asked, her voice sounding as if from far away.

Alan shook his head, "No, but it had to be them. Who else would do this?" he appealed to the room and there was a murmur of agreement, "Martha won't talk, she won't say nothin', but I know it was them."

"Reckon we oughta go git em," Hank said, "Show em they can't come in here and do this." He looked at Emma Jane, expecting her resistance, but she said nothing. "Emma Jane?"

"What?" she looked up quickly.

"You agree we can't let them Injuns git away with this, dontcha?"

She paused. It was awful convenient, she herself to be attacked and then another woman within such a short space of time. What if it had been the same man? But another part of her reasoned that it could well have been Indians. Who was she to say it wasn't?

"Yes," she said, "we can't let them get away with it."

SSSSS

A few hours later, the town was assembled in the street, Alan Lawrence rallying the cry for men to ride with him to the reservation and get the Indians. Emma Jane stood on the fringes of the crowd, watching as they all wholeheartedly agreed that this sort of thing could not go unpunished. She saw the anger, the pain on Alan's face, and the indignation of the other menfolk. She saw the women pulling their shawls closer around their bodies, mumbling that it was a miracle this sort of thing hadn't happened sooner. Martha Lawrence was apparently not in a good way and was refusing to speak.

"We got now we can catch em unawares," Hank said loudly.

"Shocking, just shocking," Loren declared, "Women can't even feel safe in their own homes!"

A shiver passed through Emma Jane and she touched her husband's arm, "Maybe you shouldn't go, Hank."

He looked at her, "Why not?"

"Well…you don't know for sure it was the Indians?"

"Alan's right, Emma Jane, who else could it have bin?" he kissed her forehead affectionately, "Don't worry, once we git done they won't be comin' near this town again. I'll keep you safe, I promise."

Emma Jane closed her eyes. It was already too late for that.

At that moment, Sully and Michaela came riding up, seemingly surprised at the crowd of people.

"What's going on?" Michaela asked Emma Jane, dismounting from her horse.

"Martha Lawrence was…raped," Emma Jane replied, "they think it was the Indians."

"That's ain't possible!" Sully said, "The Cheyenne are peaceful people!"

"They bin hangin' around here way too much," Jake spoke up, "Bin bidin' their time and now they've done it."

"That's ridiculous," Sully said.

"We gotta protect our women, Sully," Hank said, "You know that same as I do."

"Not like this," Sully protested, "None of you even know if it _was _the Indians. It could have been anybody."

"Nobody in this town is a rapist," Alan said, "it was them Injuns. Now, who's ridin' with me?" There were a number of voices in agreement.

"Please don't do this!" Michaela shouted, "Sully's right, there has to be a better way!"

"You gotta better idea, Michaela?" Hank asked, climbing onto his horse, "Ain't havin' this, none of us is. Sooner we git rid of all them Injuns, better we can all sleep at night." He bent and kissed his wife quickly before the posse turned and started to ride out of town.

Michaela turned to Emma Jane, "We can't let them do this. They'll massacre the tribe!"

Emma Jane turned slowly to face her. In her heart, she knew she should say something, but found she couldn't. To admit what had happened, to say the words…she just couldn't. "Best to let the men sort it out."

"I'll ride out, see what I can do," Sully turned his horse and galloped off in the same direction.

"But this is wrong!" Michaela said, to Emma Jane and the rest of the people slowly beginning to walk away.

"Maybe," Emma Jane replied, her voice quiet, "But that's the way it is, Michaela." With that, she walked back over to the saloon and back inside where there were still customers to be served. She knew there could be trouble, knew the Indians might even be innocent, but this was a moment for self preservation and, selfish or not, she had to keep the truth from Hank.

TBC


	3. Chapter Three

**All the usual disclaimers!**

**Sylve, glad you're not bothered about the differences with the original series. I'm trying to keep it as faithful as possible, but it's difficult obviously when you introduce a new character and try to get them to fit in. So I apologise if anyone doesn't like the fact that I'm not being completely faithful, but I hope you'll all continue to read and review!**

The Indian camp was silent as the posse approached. A few fires still smouldered, remnants of that evening's cooking, casting shadows on the various teepees littered around the area. It had been agreed amongst the men that they would approach silently, take the Indians by surprise and then attack. That way, they were more likely to kill more of them.

Alan Lawrence led the group, his anger barely contained beneath the surface. Hank rode directly behind him, noticing the stiffness in the other man's body, recognising the hate and vengeance ready to be unleashed. He wholeheartedly supported him in this quest. No man, savage or otherwise, should escape punishment for the most heinous of crimes.

Alan held up his hand, indicating they should stop. He turned in his saddle, "Some of you go round the back," he directed, "Come at 'em from all sides, won't know what hit 'em."

A few of the men urged their horses forward and manoeuvred around to the back of the camp. They all drew their guns from their holsters and were prepared to storm in and shed blood, when Sully appeared out of the darkness, yelling at the top of his voice. The racket caused some of the horses to spook and roused several of the Indians from their teepees. In a mad scramble, Indian faced white man, weapons drawn, each prepared to defend to the death.

"The hell you doin', Sully?" Hank demanded, as Sully positioned himself between both camps.

"Stopping you from making a big mistake," Sully replied.

"Ain't no mistake!" Alan declared, "Them savages raped my Martha and they gotta pay!"

"You don't know that!" Sully shouted back, "You got no evidence!"

"Evidence? Who needs evidence?" Jake said, "No-one else but them would do this kinda thing. Gotta be punished for their crimes just like everybody else."

Cloud Dancing stepped forward and conversed briefly with Sully who then turned back to the others, "Cloud Dancing says none of his tribe left the camp today."

"He would say that!" Alan replied, "He wants to protect 'em."

"Dr Mike and I were here today too," Sully continued, "Looking after some of the sick. We didn't see no-one leave."

"Cause you git eyes in the back of yer head, right?" Hank pointed his gun at Sully, "It was them."

"You have no proof."

"Jake's right, we don't need proof," Alan said, "Now git out of the way so we can finish this!"

Cloud Dancing stepped forward, "Please. I assure you, that none of my people would be capable of this."

"Oh yeah? Well who was it then?" Hank asked.

"I do not know, but I promise, if I find out that it was one of my people, they will be dealt with."

"How?" Jake asked, "One less feather in their hair?" the men snickered, "They gotta face our punishment."

"Ya take a woman 'gainst her will, ya hang," Hank spelt it out.

Sully turned reluctantly to Cloud Dancing, "Could one of your people have done this?"

"I do not think so, but I am prepared to ask," he replied, "and if I find they did, I will deal with them."

"Our way or nothing." Alan said.

"We do not support the white man's justice."

"Our way, or we burn this camp to the ground and kill all of ya," Hank said.

Cloud Dancing paused and then nodded, "Your way."

"How we gonna know you're gonna do this?" Jake asked.

"I'll be here," Sully replied, "I'll help Cloud Dancing and I'll tell you the truth."

Cloud Dancing turned to Alan, "I am sorry for your wife's pain."

Alan pointed his gun in the Indian's face, "I find out it was one of yer savages, you will be."

"Go back to town!" Sully said, "There's nothing to be done here now."

The men exchanged glances and on Alan's nod, they turned their horses and headed away from the camp. Hank paused and gave both Sully and Cloud Dancing a hard look.

"Yer lucky Alan's a reasonable man," he said, "If it had been my wife, you'd all be dead," he looked meaningfully at Sully, "All of ya."

SSSSSS

Back in town, Emma Jane paced nervously behind the bar. Checking the clock, she saw it had been over an hour since the posse had ridden out. She was terrified that at any minute, someone would come racing into town yelling that everyone was dead. The few customers that remained in the saloon talked quietly amongst themselves and the girls stood idle. No-one appeared to be in the mood for the pleasures of the flesh.

Emma Jane had never had any particular love for the Indians. Sully was right, Hank's poison had affected her reasoning. He had wound her up so much about the prospect of them riding into town, kidnapping all the women and savaging them that they had formed the basis of her nightmares. Not goblins or monsters for her, but Indians, with their faces painted and their feathers blowing as they pulled her onto their horses and sped off with her. She had become so fixated on them that she had forgotten that the white man was capable of pain and violence too.

Maybe she should have said something. If she had cast doubt on the Indians guilt, it might have been enough to stop the posse in their tracks. But then, Hank would demand to know why she was sure it wasn't them and, faced with his questioning, she wasn't sure she could have maintained her silence.

As these thoughts swirled around in her head, she heard the sound of horses approaching and, darting out from behind the bar, she threw open the doors of the saloon in time to see the posse riding back up the street. To her relief, she saw Hank and she let out a long shuddering breath, not even realising that she had been holding it.

"What happened?" she asked as he dismounted in front of the saloon.

"Made a deal," he replied.

"With the Indians?"

"Sully convinced Alan to let him find out if any of 'em did it," he explained sourly, "if they did, we can hang 'em."

Emma Jane shivered, "You don't look pleased."

"That's cause I ain't!" he said, "Shoulda just killed 'em all then and there. Wouldn't have to wait."

"Well, if Sully's going to take care of it…"

"Cover it up more like," Hank grumbled, "Ya know what he's like. Loves 'em like his own family. Think he'll turn any of 'em in?"

"Sully's got integrity," Emma Jane said, "He'll do the right thing."

Hank studied her face, "Ya look pale. Ya all right?"

She nodded, "Of course. I was just worried about you, that's all."

He grinned and pulled her against him, resting his chin on the top of her head, "That's what I like to hear."

At that moment, Michaela came hurrying out of the clinic, "Is anybody hurt?"

"All accounted for," Jake replied, "Might not stay that way, mind."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Once we find out which Injun it was…" Jake let his words trail off.

"I don't understand."

"Oh we'll hang 'im all right, once we show 'im exactly how we feel bout rapists in our town," Jake raised his eyebrows at her.

Michaela turned to where Emma Jane was still standing in Hank's embrace. The latter turned her face away and allowed her husband to lead her back into the saloon, Jake's words resonating in her head.

SSSSS

Emma Jane spent another restless night, tossing and turning this way and that, until eventually Hank demanded she either lie still or 'git the hell out.' Eventually, she got out of bed as dawn was breaking and made herself a strong cup of coffee. She poured in a shot of whisky for good measure just as Hank appeared in the kitchen.

"Feelin' poorly?" he asked, catching sight of the bottle.

"Bit of an unsettled stomach," she lied, gulping down the coffee.

"Just don't go gettin' drunk on me," he said, pouring a cup for himself, "Gotta lotta work to do today."

"We do?"

"Sure. Got the big poker game this afternoon. Gotta get everythin' ready."

Emma Jane had forgotten about the poker game. She hated it whenever a big game was planned because it meant the saloon was even more crowded and more smoky than usual. Not to mention the fact that games could last for hours upon end and there was nothing more mind-numbing than watching men look at playing cards. Besides, her tossing and turning had thrown up a different way to spend the afternoon.

"I was thinking I might go over and see Martha Lawrence this afternoon," she said cautiously.

"What for?" Hank asked, lighting up a cigarette.

"Well…everyone's talking about her, I thought it might be nice if someone actually paid her a visit."

"Alan says she's pretty upset."

"Of course she is. It's a horrible thing that's happened to her," Emma Jane replied, understanding all too well how the woman would be feeling, "I just thought I would go and show her my support."

Hank looked at her for a moment, as if he didn't quite believe her, but he eventually merely shrugged, "Whatever you want. Guess she's gonna need all the friends she can git."

"Why do you say that?"

"Woman gits raped, ain't never gonna be seen by anybody as anythin' other than a victim."

Emma Jane stared after him as he left the kitchen. What he had said was true. Martha Lawrence's name would forever be linked with what happened to her. If she admitted what had happened, Emma Jane could picture her own life. Stared at in the street, looks of pity mingled with the gossip. She knew she couldn't bear it.

The morning seemed to drag, the way time always does whenever someone has something important planned. Emma Jane had no idea what she was going to say to Martha Lawrence but inside, she knew she had to find out if it had been the same man. Her mind was so firmly focused on the task that she accidentally knocked a full glass of whisky all over a customer.

"Look what you've done, woman!" the man shouted.

"I'm sorry," she said, grabbing a handy bar cloth, "Here, let me…" she reached over to wipe his jacket, but he pulled back from her.

"Get off me!" he complained.

"What's goin' on?" Hank asked, coming over.

"She spilled whisky all over me!" the man said.

"It was an accident," Emma Jane protested.

"This is a new jacket! I just got it delivered from Denver!"

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"Have a drink on the house to make up," Hank offered, pouring him another, "And you," he turned to his wife, "Keep yer mind on the job. Ain't off yet."

"Sorry," she mumbled, turning to serve the next customer. But this sale went no better, as he complained she had short changed him.

Hank pulled her to one side, "What's yer problem?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, "I'm not sure what's wrong with me today. My head seems to be all over the place," she laughed nervously to cover up her anxiety.

"Yer gonna be costin' me custom," he said, "Go on, git out."

Emma Jane looked at him, "Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. With ya gone, might be able to serve some folks properly." He grinned at her, "Git lost."

"Thank you," she replied genuinely, taking off her apron and dashing up the stairs to get herself ready. She changed into one of her better dresses, fixed her hair and then headed back down to the bar. She waved to her husband briefly before disappearing outside to where her horse was tied up. As she climbed on, the door to the clinic opened and Michaela appeared.

"Emma Jane," she greeted her, "Can we talk?"

"I'm a bit busy right now," Emma Jane replied, "Maybe later."

"It's important," Michaela came over to her, "I need to speak to you about what's happening with the Indians."

"What about it?"

"It's not right."

Emma Jane sighed, "Michaela…I told you, that's how things are around here."

"You're not from this town originally, any more than I am. You know there are better ways."

"I've lived here ten years," Emma Jane told her, "and believe me, there is no other way."

"But to accuse people without proof…"

"A woman was raped!" Emma Jane addressed her angrily, "Whoever did it has to be made to pay!"

"You know as well as I do, Emma Jane, that any Indian won't get a fair trial," Michaela beseeched her.

"I'm sorry," Emma Jane interrupted her, "but I have things to do." With that, she spurred her horse onwards past Michaela and out of town in the direction of the Lawrence ranch.

The town gossips were right, Martha Lawrence was not in a good way. When she had opened the door, Emma Jane had been stunned by her pale complexion and unkempt appearance. After identifying herself and asking if she could come in, Martha opened the door wider and allowed her visitor to enter.

"You're…Hank's wife?" she asked quietly as she closed the door.

"Yes, yes I am," Emma Jane said, "I just wanted to come and see if you were all right." Martha walked in front of her into the living area and sat down in one of the large chairs, "Everyone's…very concerned about you."

Martha looked at her, her eyes huge and pained, "Folks are…talking about me?"

"Only out of concern," Emma Jane reassured her, sitting down opposite her, "Everyone's horrified about what happened." She paused, "Have you…spoken to anyone?"

"Such as?"

Emma Jane was lost for an idea, "The Reverend?"

Martha seemed horrified by the prospect and pulled her shawl closer around her thin frame, "I couldn't."

"It might help, to speak to someone," Emma Jane pushed, knowing that she was most likely being deeply insensitive to this woman's preference to remain silent on the subject. But she needed to know, "About…what the Indians did to you."

Martha looked up at her, her forehead creased with confusion, "Indians?"

Emma Jane nodded, "Alan said it was Indians who…" she didn't want to say the word. Martha didn't reply. She looked down at her hands. "It wasn't Indians, was it?"

"Alan came to that conclusion all by himself."

Emma Jane felt her heart beat faster, "Was it a white man? Tall with dark hair…and blue eyes?" she could vividly remember his eyes as he bore down on top of her.

Martha looked up quickly, "How did you…?"

Emma Jane took a deep breath, "Because it happened to me too." Martha stared at her. "The night before it happened to you. I just needed to know if…"

"He…he hurt you too?"

Emma Jane nodded, "Yes. He was drinking in the saloon and…" she didn't want to relive the whole sordid episode, "When I heard that you had been attacked, I wondered if it was the same person. But when Alan said it was the Indians…well, I had to find out for myself."

Martha stood up and walked to the window. She didn't say anything for a long moment, "I've never known anybody else who's been…violated."

"Me neither," Emma Jane said, "It's been going around and around in my head since it happened. It's all I can think about…"

"Alan's just…shut himself off from me," Martha confessed, "He's so desperate to just kill whoever he thinks did this…"

"…and I can't bring myself to tell Hank because I know what he'll do it he ever finds out…"

"…he won't even look at me…

"…and I was worried about coming here in case I upset you more…"

"…but now that there's two of us, we can tell everyone and make sure the right man pays for what he did…"

"No!" Emma Jane picked up on Martha's last words and responded sharply, causing the other woman to start, "I'm sorry," she backtracked, "but…I can't…I can't tell my husband."

"But…" Martha was confused, "But if you don't…"

"I can't tell him," Emma Jane repeated, "I just wanted to come here and see if the man who raped me was the same man who raped you."

"But Alan thinks it was the Indians!" Martha objected, renewed vigour in her expression, "And it wasn't. We both know it wasn't."

"It doesn't matter."

"I know my husband. He'll kill whoever he thinks it was."

Emma Jane took a deep breath, "Does it really matter if he thinks it's the Indians? They'll never be able to find proof on any one Indian because it wasn't them. They won't be able to hang anybody. This will all eventually…go away."

"Alan won't stop until someone pays," Martha said, "He won't care if there's proof!"

"Sully won't let anyone do anything without proof," Emma Jane continued, "Trust me, if we just keep quiet, it'll all go away." Her voice shook as she spoke, knowing that she didn't fully believe what she was saying.

"You mean lie."

"It's not lying, it's just…not…saying."

"Don't you want him to be punished for what he did?" Martha asked.

"I just want it all to go away."

"So you come to my door, tell me that you experience what I did and now you're saying you don't want to do anything about it?" Martha was indignant.

"I'm asking you to keep quiet! I'm asking you to allow your husband to carry on thinking what he thinks. Please," Emma Jane stood up and walked over to stand in front of Martha, "Please."

"Why can't you tell Hank?" Martha asked, "He's your husband, he'll want to support you. I know that, once he's over his anger, Alan'll comfort me."

"Wish I could say the same," Emma Jane replied, "But I can't tell Hank, Martha. Please, I'm begging you. Keep to the story."

Martha paused for a long moment, looking into Emma Jane's pleading face. After a while, she nodded, "All right. If you're sure that no Indian is going to be hanged for it."

"There won't be any hanging," Emma Jane reassured her, "They won't find any evidence against any Indian. This _will _all just go away."

"For the townsfolk maybe, but what about for us?" Martha asked her, her eyes filling with tears, "When do we forget?"

Emma Jane thought about her question as she rode back to town. Martha had a point. When would they forget about what that man had done to them? Would there ever be a time when she didn't see his face, or smell him? She felt a strange sense of relief knowing that it was the same man who had violated Martha, but she wasn't sure why. Maybe because it showed that she hadn't done anything to provoke him specifically, that it wasn't her fault. She also felt better knowing that Martha was going to keep the secret. What _did _it really matter if the Indians were blamed? They were blamed for everything else that went wrong in the town. And she was sure that things would never go any further.

When she stepped back into the saloon, however, she was surprised to see that the poker game was not going ahead as planned, but that the customers were all standing around talking in hushed voices, concerned expressions on their faces.

"What's happening?" she asked Hank.

"Got one of them Injuns fer the rape," he told her.

Emma Jane's stomach dropped, "What?"

He nodded, "Looks like some Injun did it. Sully and Cloud Dancing said he wasn't at the camp and he ain't got no alibi. Mustav snuck out to the ranch." Emma Jane didn't say anything, "How's Martha?"

"Uh…still upset," she replied, "What happens now?"

Hank blew out smoke and grinned, "It's like I said. Ya take a woman 'gainst her will, ya hang. Town's gonna enjoy this one." He leaned over and kissed her, "Told ya I'd keep ya safe."

Emma Jane stood rooted to the spot watching as he turned to serve another customer. She knew for a fact that this Indian, whoever he was, had to be innocent and suddenly she realised that no matter how hard she tried, it wasn't going to go away.

**Will Emma Jane tell Hank? Can she keep it a secret? Can she let an innocent Indian take the fall? Find out soon!**


	4. Chapter Four

**All the usual disclaimers!**

It was the following morning before Emma Jane found out anything more about what had happened the previous afternoon. She needed to know everything about this Indian, the evidence against him, what he had said…how he possibly could be connected to acts which she knew for a fact he hadn't committed. Hank was grouchy, primarily because for the third time in as many days she had lain 'like a sack of oats' while he carried out his husbandly duty. Her excuse was that she was tired and couldn't seem to find the energy. This was true. She had awoken that morning feeling tired and sluggish, a slight fever on her brown. Hank had merely grunted at her and then stalked off to move some crates of whisky, leaving her sitting in bed contemplating what she was going to do. Sully would be unlikely to give her any information, wondering why she was so interested all of a sudden, but she knew many people in town who could be termed 'gossips' and knew they would be more than willing to chat about what had taken place.

She quickly washed and dressed and took Victoria down to the kitchen for some breakfast. Jessica was just making some tea and Emma Jane saw to her dismay that the younger girl was sporting a bruise on the side of her face.

"What happened?" she asked.

Jessica shrugged, "Customer got a bit rowdy, that's all. It's nothin'." She smiled gamely.

Emma Jane wanted to say more, but experience had taught her over the last ten years that when one of the girls had been hurt, they rarely wanted to discuss it, "I'm sorry," she said, "Did you tell Hank?"

Jessica nodded and then turned back to the stove. Emma Jane sat Victoria down and put her breakfast into a bowel, all the time smarting inside that men, whoever they were, could hurt and abuse women the way they did and get away with it. They should be held accountable, brought to justice…and yet she was prepared to allow an innocent man to take the fall for the most heinous of crimes.

"Do you know anything about this Indian that attacked Mrs Lawrence?" she asked.

Jessica turned back around, grateful for a change of subject, "Yes! All the men were talkin' bout it last night! Seems as though this Injun, Grey Owl I think his name is, wasn't on the reservation when he was s'posed to be and he couldn't say where he was!"

"So, they think he did it?"

"Yup, sure do."

"And…Cloud Dancing and Sully are prepared to hand him over?"

"Well…" Jessica leaned over the table conspiratorially, "Jake told me, that he'd heard from Lloyd Bowman, that he'd heard from Loren, that he'd heard from Will Brown, that he'd heard from Alan Lawrence that he'd spoken to Sully and bin told that the Injuns are ashamed and that they're gonna hand him over!"

"So, he'll hang," Emma Jane said quietly, "Just like Hank said."

"Sure will," Jessica straightened up, "But there's talk that folks are gonna give him a good beatin' first. Show him we don't tolerate that kinda thing." She shuddered, "Can you imagine anythin' worse? I mean, I know what I do could be considered bad, but…I grit my teeth and bare it, you know?"

"No," Emma Jane said, "I can't imagine anything worse."

SSSS

"I say we just kill him ourselves."

"Aw, now Jake…" Loren said, "We can't do that, it ain't right! We can't deprive the Lawrences' of the satisfaction of watchin' him hang now, can we?"

"I'm with Jake," Hank said, lighting up a cigarette, "Too easy just to let him hang. Gotta show him some real pain."

"Like he did that poor woman," Jake emphasised, looking at Loren, "What if it had been Maud?"

Loren winced slightly at the mention of his late wife's name, "Well it weren't."

"Could have bin," Hank said, "Could have bin any one of 'em. Could just storm the jail and give him what for."

Reverend Johnston, who had been standing close by, now waded in, "Gentlemen, I can't condone this talk, and neither would the good Lord."

"What's the good Lord gotta do with it?" Jake demanded.

"He had everything to do with it!" the Reverend continued, "He doesn't stand for murder, he stands for peace and forgiveness for all sinners who repent."

"You think that heathen's gonna repent?" Hank asked, incredulously, "Hell, he worships some Injun god anyways. He ain't got no proper religion."

"Neither have you, Hank," the Reverend pointed out, "but if it were you awaiting death and you repented, he would forgive you."

"Well it ain't me," Hank replied fiercely, "Cause I ain't no rapist."

"He'll get what's comin' to him," Jake said, "You wait and see."

Emma Jane, who had opened the saloon door on Hank's last remark, took a deep breath and hugged Victoria closer to her. "What are you men gossiping about?" she asked in an attempt at false cheeriness.

"You see Martha Lawrence," Jake seized on her, "You know how she's sufferin', right?"

"Yes, I spoke with her."

"She wants him to suffer too, right?" he pressed her.

Emma Jane paused, "Well, she's angry, naturally, and hurt. I think any women would want to see her attacker pay." She chose her words carefully, "but I'm not sure that hanging's the right way."

"Thank you, Emma Jane," the Reverend said, "Straight from the mouth of a woman."

"One who ain't bin raped," Hank said poignantly.

"That's very true," she replied quickly, "Loren, I was just on my way over to buy some material. Victoria could do with a new dress."

Loren grunted in acknowledgement and led the way across the street back to his store. There were two other customers when Emma Jane went in and as she headed for the fabric section, she could hear them talking.

"Terrible thing."

"Pushed to the ground and violated in your own home!"

"Doesn't bear thinkin' about!"

"That poor woman. No wonder she ain't been in town recently. Probably afraid to see folks that know."

"She's gonna have to come back some time. Can't stay out on that farm forever."

Emma Jane tried to block them out as she looked through the fabric, but their talk was incessant, burning into her brain, their words swirling around.

"…bleedin' and everythin'…"

"…imagine another man…."

"…tearin' at yer skirts…"

"…forcin' himself…"

Loren, from his position at the counter, was watching Emma Jane closely. She hadn't looked particularly well when she emerged on the porch of the saloon, her face flushed. Now, she seemed to be standing merely staring at the fabric, swaying slightly.

"Emma Jane?" he called out to her, "You a'right?"

She turned to look at him and he noticed she had gone deathly pale. In the next instance, she grabbed onto the shelf for support before sliding down it, Victoria dropping out of her arms onto the floor.

"Oh my!" one of the women rushed forward to where Victoria had landed and was crying, "Oh my goodness, are you all right?"

"Emma Jane?" Loren hurried over to where she was half-sitting, half-lying on the floor. As he peered down at her, she opened her eyes again, "Emma Jane?"

"I…" she started to talk, "I…what…?"

"You fainted," he told her, "It's all right now though."

"I'll get that doctor," the other woman said, dashing out of the store.

"Vicky…" Emma Jane asked weakly.

"She's fine," the woman who was holding Victoria replied, "She just got a bit of a fright that's all."

Emma Jane tried to get to her feet.

"Maybe you should just sit still for a minute," Loren said, "I'll get you some water."

At that moment, the other woman returned, followed by Michaela, who immediately rushed over and crouched down next to her.

"Emma Jane, are you all right?" she asked, putting her hand on her friend's forehead.

"I'm…fine," she replied, "I just fainted, that's all."

"You've got a bit of a temperature," Michaela informed her, "I'd like you to come over to the clinic so I can check you over."

"I'm fine," she insisted, struggling to her feet and taking a still wailing Victoria from the woman, "I'm…" at that moment, another dizzy spell came over her and she clutched onto Michaela for support.

"No arguments," Michaela said, "You're coming over with me, right now." She took Emma Jane's arm and gently led her towards the door of the store. As they emerged out into the morning sunshine, Hank, who had still been standing smoking with Jake, caught sight of them and dashed over.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Emma Jane said quickly, "I fainted, that's all."

"Fainted?" he replied, his tone derogatory.

"I'm taking her over to the clinic," Michaela informed him, "Perhaps you could be so good as to take your daughter."

Hank reluctantly took Victoria from Emma Jane and carried her back over towards the saloon while Michaela and Emma Jane continued on over to the clinic. Once inside, Michaela sat her down on the bed and took out her stethoscope.

"Have you been feeling ill?" she asked, pressing it against Emma Jane's chest and asking her to take a deep breath.

"Just this morning," Emma Jane replied, eager to keep as few details as possible from her, "I had a bit of a fever."

"Yes I see," Michaela said, "Your lungs sound fine. I'm just going to check your eyes." She lifted a light and held it up while she looked into each of Emma Jane's eyes in turn, "They seem fine too." She stepped back and looked at her. "When you brought Victoria in a few days ago, you seemed to be in pain."

Emma Jane waved her hand, "It was nothing."

"But it might be linked to what's wrong with you. Would you mind if I conducted an exam?"

Emma Jane paused, "I'm…not sure…"

"It won't hurt," Michaela reassured her, "but it will give me a better idea of how best to treat you."

Emma Jane nodded, "Ok." She lay back on the bed and hitched her skirts up. The first thing Michaela noticed, was the bruising on her inner thighs.

"You have some bruising."

"I fell," Emma Jane replied, before she realised how improbable it sounded.

Michaela said nothing, but continued her exam. As she looked internally, Emma Jane winced in pain. Michaela stepped back, troubled, "You can sit up now."

Emma Jane sat up and pulled her skirts back down, remembering only too well another such moment.

"You have some redness and inflammation," Michaela said, "as well as the bruising on your thighs."

"Do you think that's what caused me to faint?"

"I'm concerned as to why you have these symptoms."

"Like I said, I fell."

"Emma Jane…"

"What?" Emma Jane looked at her almost defiantly, "What?"

"You have an infection. Have you been experiencing any pain when you urinate?"

"It's been burning a little, that's all. It happens, right?"

"Well, yes it does. These types of infections are relatively common…"

"So, I'm fine," Emma Jane stood up.

"But an infection wouldn't cause the swelling and bruising that you have," Michaela continued, "I understand this is a sensitive subject, but if Hank has…"

"What? If Hank has what?"

Michaela chose her words carefully, "If Hank has ever…forced you to…"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Emma Jane declared, "Hank would never do such a thing to me! Whatever you or anyone else might think of him, he is not a rapist!"

"Then who _has_ raped you?" Michaela asked boldly.

Emma Jane froze like a rabbit caught in headlights, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I've seen it before. In married women and in single women. It's nothing to be ashamed of if it has happened to you."

"It hasn't," Emma Jane replied, "Martha Lawrence was raped, not me."

"I went to see her," Michaela continued, "her husband was worried about her injuries. She said you had visited her."

"Out of concern, that's all."

Michaela didn't believe her, "I didn't know you were friends with her."

"You've only been here a few months, how could you possibly know who I'm friends with?" Emma Jane demanded.

"I thought on some level, that we were friends."

"We are," Emma Jane looked away.

"Then talk to me," Michaela said, "I want to try and help you." She paused, "Did the man who raped Martha Lawrence rape you too?"

Emma Jane didn't say anything for a long moment. To be able to finally tell someone, someone who wouldn't judge her, wouldn't cast her out as if she were diseased, wouldn't go running to Hank…She nodded, "Yes."

Michaela sighed, "I'm so very sorry."

"So am I."

"When did it happen?"

"The night before Martha was attacked," Emma Jane replied, "I was putting out the trash when…when he grabbed me. He was drunk."

"Have you told Hank?"

Emma Jane stared at her, "Of course I haven't."

"Why not?"

"Because…because I know how he would react. He's riled up enough as it is about what happened to Martha. He and Jake want to go out and kill that Indian themselves, without waiting for justice. How much worse would it be if he knew that I had been attacked too? Besides," she looked down at her hands, "I'm not sure how he would cope around me."

"He would support you, surely?"

Emma Jane smiled sadly, "Not every man is like that, Michaela. They want virgin brides, yet they want to be able to go around with other women whenever they choose. I'm not saying Hank does that," she added quickly, "I believe he's been faithful to me, but…" she sighed, "I'm not sure how he'd feel about me having been with another man."

"But you were forced!" Michaela was shocked, "He can hardly blame you for that!"

"Martha Lawrence told me her husband won't even look at her. I don't want that for me and Hank."

Michaela sighed, "I think you're wrong."

"It's been so awful. Pretending that nothing happened, listening while everybody talks about what a tragedy it was," tears pricked her eyes, "all the time knowing that I was a victim too." Emma Jane wiped her eyes viciously, "I can't stand it. Everyone going on about this Indian getting hanged when I know…" she broke off.

"Know what?"

Emma Jane looked at her, "If I tell you this, do you promise not to tell anyone else?"

"I'm a doctor. What you tell me is confidential."

"It wasn't the Indian that did it."

"What?"

Emma Jane nodded, "It was an ordinary man. He'd been drinking in the saloon before it happened. I even served him myself," she let out a bitter laugh, "When I heard about Martha, I went to see her, to see if it was the same man. And it was."

Michaela was stunned, "So Grey Owl's innocent."

"Yes, looks that way."

"But…but he's going to be tried and…and hanged! We can't let that happen! _You _can't let that happen!" Emma Jane shrugged, "Surely, Mrs Lawrence will tell the truth?"

"No, I don't think she will."

"But…"

"It's gone too far now, Michaela."

"No, it hasn't. You could still speak up. Tell the truth."

Emma Jane shook her head firmly, "No."

"You have to! You can't let an innocent man hang!"

"Do you have any idea what people will say about me?" Emma Jane said.

"What does it matter as long as you tell the truth?"

"When I first came to this town, I was like you. An outsider, a newcomer. People labelled me the same way they labelled you. A rich woman from a big city who has lowered herself to come to Colorado Springs. I know what everyone thought about Hank marrying me. It took me a long time to shed that label, Michaela, and I am _not _about to give this town the opportunity to give me another one!" Emma Jane headed for the door, "I don't feel good about it, Lord knows I don't, but I'm sorry, I can't say anything."

"Not only will you let an innocent man hang, you'll hurt yourself too," Michaela said, "If you don't speak about this to Hank, you'll destroy your marriage."

"How would you know?" Emma Jane asked, "You know nothing about me, or my marriage."

"I know, that I couldn't keep something like this from the man I loved. And I couldn't let an innocent man go to his death."

Emma Jane nodded, "Well, I guess it's lucky that you aren't me, isn't is Michaela?" She reached into her purse and left some money on the table, "Thank you for treating me." She opened the door and walked outside where, to her surprise, Hank was waiting for her.

"Ya a'right?" he asked, standing up.

"Fine," she smiled at him, "Michaela said it was just a funny turn because of the heat." The door behind her opened and Michaela stepped out.

"You should take some of this," she handed Emma Jane a small bottle of medicine, "It'll make you feel better." She looked pointedly at her, and Emma Jane stared coolly back.

"Thank you," she replied.

Michaela watched as Hank put a protective arm around his wife's waist and led her away from the clinic across the street to the saloon. Emma Jane glanced around to look at her once and Michaela could see the pain in her eyes.

Jessica came out of the saloon and handed Victoria to her mother, just as a horse pulled up outside the saloon. It was Alan Lawrence.

"Mrs Lawson," he touched his hat to her, "My Martha…well, she's askin' to see ya."

Emma Jane paused, "She is?"

"Yes ma'am. She's quite insistent. Got herself worked up into a right state. Wants you to come back with me right now."

"I…"

"She ain't well," Hank said, "Just bin to see the doctor."

"I'm sorry," Alan said, "but Martha's wailin' and cryin'. Said how she's gotta see ya. Somethin' bout how she can't do it?" he looked questioningly at her. "Can you come?"

Emma Jane looked back to the clinic where Michaela was still standing and then at Hank, who merely looked at her. If she didn't go and calm Martha, goodness only knows what could come out of the woman's mouth.

She nodded, "Give me five minutes to change and I'll come with you."


	5. Chapter Five

**Just like to point out that I know very little about the US justice system (except what I see in Law and Order) and even less about justice in the 19th century, so I've based this trial on Dorothy's trial for murdering her husband. Any inconsistencies or quirks are of my own making and I apologise in advance!**

****

**All the usual disclaimers!**

Martha Lawrence was clearly in a state. When Emma Jane went inside the Lawrence home, Martha was sitting in a chair, her face red and tear-stained and when she saw Emma Jane, she leapt to her feet like a woman possessed and ran towards her.

"I can't do this, Emma Jane," she said, "I can't, I just can't."

Emma Jane looked pointedly at Alan who was standing behind her, nervously twisting his hat in his hands. He nodded briefly and turned to leave. As the door closed behind him, Emma Jane turned to Martha, "Martha, stop this."

"I can't," the other woman replied, "I can't let an innocent man hang, whether he's an Indian or not, I just can't." She wrung her hands, "It's wrong, it's a sin!"

Emma Jane sighed, "Martha, listen to me," she took the other woman's hands in hers, "I understand how you feel, honestly I do, but this is for the best. The trial's set to start tomorrow, it'll all be over soon."

"But…but this is wrong!" Martha sobbed, "I can't live with myself if I do this, and I don't know how you can either!"

Emma Jane closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath, trying to maintain the strength she had built up over the last few days, "Believe me, Martha. It doesn't sit easy with me either. I don't take any pleasure from any of this, but I do believe this is the right thing to do."

"For you maybe," Martha pulled away from her, "You're just trying to protect yourself! You don't care about me or that poor Indian!"

"That's not true, of course I care!"

"No, you don't! Martha rounded on her, "All you care about is keeping your perfect image, keeping everyone in this town thinking how wonderful and…and moral you are!"

"How dare you…!"

"That's the real reason you don't want to tell Hank, isn't it? Wouldn't want him to think he was married to a woman who'd lain with another man!"

"Listen, I told you before. There might not even be a hanging," Emma Jane pressed, "if they can't find enough evidence against Grey Owl, and we both know there isn't any, then they can't hang him, it's as simple as that."

"Except you're expecting me to stand up and say that it was him."

"You…you could just say it was an Indian, but that you don't know which one," Emma Jane suggested, "You don't have to say it was definitely him."

Martha stared at her, "I don't know how you can be so calm. I don't know how you can be so cold." Emma Jane looked down at the floor, "Well you may be able to keep up the pretence, but I can't. When I'm asked, I'm going to tell the truth, _and _I'm going to say you knew!"

Emma Jane stepped forward, "Go ahead and do it," she said, "no-one in town will believe you."

"Why not?"

"You're hysterical! You've been hysterical ever since it happened," Emma Jane said spitefully, "Everyone knows that. If you say anything, people will just say it's the trauma talking. And if I deny it, who are people going to believe?"

Martha stepped back, stunned, "You…you…"

Emma Jane picked up her hat, "Just stick to what we agreed," she said, "trust me, Martha. Everything is going to work out fine." She pulled open the door to the house and darted outside, climbing quickly onto her horse and turning her back towards the town. As she rode, tears coursed down her cheeks. She didn't know when she had turned so hard, using a woman's grief against her, but somewhere along the line, the whole experience had changed her, perhaps forever.

SSSSS

The morning of the trial dawned bright and fair. The town was up and about early, so eager was everyone at the prospect of what was about to take place. The trial of a man, an Indian no less, for the rape of one of their kin. It was a moment that every man wanted to see.

Emma Jane had discovered, to her horror, that because the townsfolk had reacted so badly to the prospect of an Indian in their church, Hank had agreed to the trial being held in the saloon, meaning there was no escape for her. The circuit judge, Judge Melman, had arrived the night before, an old man in his sixties, with a bushy grey beard and a sharp tongue. The kind of judge the town were glad to welcome. He seemed to have no love for Indians, and they knew he would pass the ultimate sentence on Grey Owl.

Rumour had it that Sully was going to speak on Grey Owl's behalf, something which had aroused great ridicule amongst the townsfolk. "After all," Loren had said, "he's one himself."

Emma Jane pulled on one of her best outfits, a dress of pale lavender. She wanted to look respectable on this day of all days, if only to distance herself somewhat from what was actually taking place. Hank had stocked up on extra whiskey for the crowds that the trial was bound to draw and had told her, in no uncertain terms, to be on her best behaviour. As she made her way downstairs to the bar, she could see the crowds starting to come in. Most of them touched their hats to her, but she felt no pride in being so greeted. Instead, she felt like a traitor and as she watched Sully walk in with Grey Owl just before ten, she felt as though her heart was in her mouth.

The room went silent as they came in, Grey Owl dressed in his Cheyenne garb, his face painted, feathers in his hair, the whole getup. His eyes darted around the room, sensing the hostility coming from the men within. Emma Jane saw he couldn't have been much older than herself. A place had been cleared in the centre of the room where Judge Melman was to sit with Grey Owl and Sully facing him. The judge himself, at that moment, was stood in the kitchen taking a shot of whiskey. When he was ready, he came out into the saloon and took his seat.

"Do we have a jury?" he asked gruffly, scanning the room.

"Sure we do," Jake said, gesturing to a number of men, "All ready and willin'."

"Your Honour," Sully stood up.

The judge looked at him over his glasses, "You are?"

"Byron Sully, I speak for Grey Owl."

"I see," Judge Melman said, "do you have something to say?"

"This jury ain't going to be fair to Grey Owl," Sully said, "these men all live in this town and they all hate the Cheyenne."

"So, what would you suggest?" Judge Melman asked.

"That there be Indians on the jury too."

This caused an uproar as every man in the saloon protested.

"Can't hate no Injuns on the jury," Hank said, "Ain't right. This is our town."

"And Grey Owl's not gonna get a fair shot here!" Sully protested.

"Ya got Horace and the Reverend," Jake pointed out.

"And we also got you and Hank," Sully replied.

"S'ides," Hank added, "Ain't havin' any more Injuns in here than's necessary." He looked at Grey Owl.

"I have to agree," Judge Melman said, "the jury we have here is adequate." Sully sat down, defeated, "let's begin." He looked down at his papers, "Doctor…Michaela Quinn?" There was a slight murmur as Michaela stepped forward, "Raise your right hand," the judge ordered, "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

"I do," Michaela replied, before taking her seat.

"Now, Doctor Quinn," the judge began, "You were present at the Indian reservation on the day of the attack, were you not?"

"I was."

"Why were you there?"

"Cloud Dancing had said there were some of his people were sick. He asked if I could go and help."

Judge Melman looked at her, "You often take time out of caring for your town to go and take care of sick Indians?"

"I'll help anyone who needs help," Michaela replied defiantly.

"I see. And what did you observe at the reservation?"

"That a number of the Indians were displaying flu-like symptoms."

"And what did you do?"

"I gave the appropriate medicine and took care of them as best I could."

"Did you see the accused at all that day?"

Michaela looked over at Grey Owl and Sully, "No, no I didn't."

"You didn't see him at all?" the judge asked.

"No, I didn't."

"Did you examine Mrs Lawrence, the victim?"

"Yes I did. She had bruises and inflammation," Michaela glanced briefly at Emma Jane, "I ascertained from that, and from what she told me, that she had been raped."

"Did she actually say she had been raped?"

"Yes she did."

"Did she indicate by whom?" the judge looked at her.

Michaela paused, "No, but her husband said it was the Indians." A murmur went around, "but that doesn't mean…"

"Thank you Doctor Quinn," Judge Melman interrupted and took a note, "Mr Sully?"

"Doctor Quinn," Sully began, "Do you believe Grey Owl capable of something like this?"

"That's speculation, Mr Sully," the judge interrupted, "I can't allow that question."

Sully paused, "Doctor, just because you didn't happen to see Grey Owl that day, doesn't mean that he wasn't there, does it?"

"No, no it doesn't."

"Thank you," Sully sat down.

The judge turned back to Michaela, "Doctor, one last question. Do you have any evidence to suggest that this man is not responsible?"

Emma Jane looked up and caught Michaela's gaze, knowing what the doctor wanted to say and yet couldn't.

"Just because Mrs Lawrence said it was the Indians doesn't mean that it was this Indian," Michaela began.

"Doctor Quinn, please answer the question," the judge looked at her over his glasses.

"No," she said finally, "I have no evidence."

"Thank you Doctor, you may step down."

Emma Jane watched as Michaela moved away from the stand and left the saloon. She turned her back on the bar and took a quick drink of whiskey, desperate to calm the nerves that were causing her to shake. When she turned back around, Alan Lawrence was taking the stand. He spoke of how he had found his wife on the floor, bleeding and crying and how she had told him that she had been attacked. When he had asked her if it was the Indians, she hadn't denied it.

"That's not the same as sayin' it was them though, is it?" Sully queried.

Alan looked at him hard, "If you'd bin there, you'd know that it was. It was him," he pointed at Grey Owl, "he raped my Martha and now he's goin' to get his punishment." A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.

"I think we'll take a short break," the judge said, "we're resume at two o'clock." He banged his gavel and then left his seat, leaving the spectators free to talk and speculate.

"No way is he innocent," Jake said, coming up to the bar for a drink, "He did it, don't ya think?" he gestured to Emma Jane.

"I don't know, Jake," she replied.

"You don't know?" he queried, "you bin listenin' to the same thing as me, ain't you?"

"Yes, but it's hardly conclusive evidence, is it? There's nothing to suggest it was really him." She poured him a drink.

"If it wasn't him, then who was it?" he asked her.

She had no answer. Instead, she excused herself and hurried upstairs to see to Victoria. As she watched her daughter playing happily with some building bricks, she let her mind wander back, back to before this had all happened. Back to when she had been happy, content, had nothing much to worry about except her family being safe and well. She was so lost in thought that she didn't hear Hank come up behind her until he had put his hand on her arm. She screamed and whirled around, ready to attack whoever it was.

He grabbed her arm, "Hey," he said.

"Sorry," she replied.

"Bit jumpy ain't ya?" he said.

"I'm just a little pre-occupied, that's all," she replied, "what with everything going on downstairs."

"Be over soon," he grinned, "soon have him swingin' from a rope."

"Hank," she grabbed his arm as he turned to leave, "You don't really think he did it, do you? I mean, there's no evidence against him except for the fact that no-one saw him on the reservation."

"So?"

"So, that's hardly enough to hang a man for, is it?"

"Who cares whether he did it or not?" Hank said, "One less Injun around ain't gonna bother me. S'ides, Martha's up next. Reckon she's gonna say it was him." He turned and walked out of the room and Emma Jane had no choice but to follow him back downstairs as the trial got under way once again.

Judge Melman came back in, "Mrs Martha Lawrence."

The crowds in the saloon parted as Martha made her way inside. She paused and looked at Emma Jane, but the latter merely nodded encouragingly and Martha walked over t the stand.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?" he asked her.

Martha paused for what seemed to Emma Jane like forever, "I do."

"Sit down," the judge ordered, "Mrs Lawrence, could you tell us in your own time what happened to you on the day in question?"

Martha swallowed hard, "I was in the yard hanging out my laundry. It was a nice day, hot, and I thought the clothes would dry quickly. Alan was in town doing some business, I don't know what." She sighed, "Anyways, I was just minding my own business when…when someone grabbed me from behind."

"Then what happened?" the judge asked.

The room was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop, "He…he dragged me to the barn and…" a blush rose on her cheeks, "he took advantage of me."

"Do you remember anything about the attack?"

Martha shook her head, "Only that it seemed to go on forever. I thought he was never going to stop. I tried to scream, but he was too strong. I couldn't stop him…" she started to cry.

"It's all right Mrs Lawrence, take your time," the judge said, "what happened after that?"

"After he'd…finished…he got up and ran off. I just lay there…didn't know what to do, what to think…Alan came home and found me there," she looked at her husband, "Lord only knows what he thought."

"Mrs Lawrence," Judge Melman said, "is the man who attacked you, in this room today?"

There was a deathly silence as Martha looked first at the judge and then over at Grey Owl, who was watching her. Her gaze shifted over to Emma Jane, who was holding her breath so tightly, she was sure she would collapse and die at any moment.

"Yes," Martha said finally, "yes I think he is."

"Can you point him out?"

"I think it was that man there," Martha pointed at Grey Owl with a shaky finger.

Emma Jane let her breath out slowly, relieved that Martha had done as they had agreed.

"Thank you Mrs Lawrence," the judge said, "Mr Sully?"

Sully stood up, "Are you absolutely positive it was this Indian?" he asked.

Martha nodded, "I think so."

"You think so? How sure are you? Don't all Indians look alike?"

Martha glanced quickly at Emma Jane and then back again, "I…I mean I suppose…"

"So, it might have been any other Indian. You're just saying you 'think' it was Grey Owl."

"It could have been him," Martha said.

"But you ain't sure."

"No, no I suppose I'm not." A murmur of disapproval went around, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Sully said, "Long as you're tellin' the truth."

"That's enough Mr Sully," the judge said, "thank you Mrs Lawrence. You may step down." Martha scuttled away from the stand, "Mr Sully are you planning on calling any witnesses?"

"Just Grey Owl, Your Honour."

"Yer gonna let him talk?" Hank asked, "Can he even speak English?"

"Yes he can, Hank," Sully shot back, "and he has a right to speak in his own defence."

"Fine," the judge said, "Calling Grey Owl to the stand."

Grey Owl stood and walked forward. He took the oath and replied in the affirmative before sitting down in the chair, his back ramrod straight.

"Do you live at the Indian reservation?"

"Yes," Grey Owl replied.

"Were you there on Monday?" the judge looked at him.

"I was not."

"Where were you?"

"I was out, hunting for food," Grey Owl replied, "I did not go near the woman's home."

"Were you with anyone?" the judge asked.

"I was alone."

"Do you know where the Lawrence ranch is?"

"I do not. I have never been there. I did not hurt the woman."

"Mrs Lawrence testified that she thought it was you who had attacked her," Judge Melman said, looking over his glasses.

"She is mistaken."

"You callin' my wife a liar?" Alan Lawrence demanded.

"Sit down, Mr Lawrence," the judge ordered, "Grey Owl, can anyone verify your whereabouts at the time Mrs Lawrence was attacked?"

"No, but I did not hurt her."

"Thank you," Judge Melman looked at Sully, "Mr Sully?"

Sully got to his feet, "What do the Cheyenne believe in?"

"We believe in peace and living in harmony with our fellow men."

"Have any Indians, that you know of, ever attacked a white person?"

"Of course. There are many in our number who fear and hate the white man, who will destroy his property. But they are Dog Soldiers. We are not all Dog Soldiers. I have never wished harm on another and I did not hurt the woman."

"Thank you Grey Owl," Sully said, sitting back down again.

"The jury can now retire," the judge said, "Grey Owl can be removed back to the cells."

"Ain't gonna take us that long," Hank said,

Judge Melman retired back to the kitchen and there was a scuffle as the men selected to be on the jury huddled in one corner of the saloon. Those who hadn't been selected swarmed towards the bar and for a few moments, Emma Jane's attention was taken up in serving the thirsty patrons. Despite what her husband had said, she was surprised when, a few moments later, Jake clapped his hands.

"We got a verdict," he announced.

The room fell silent as Judge Melman came back in and sat down. "Will the accused please stand up." Sully and Grey Owl got to their feet, "Have the jury reached a verdict?" he asked.

"We have," Jake replied.

"What is your verdict?"

Jake turned to look at Grey Owl and Emma Jane could tell by the self-satisfied look on his face exactly what it was going to be, "Guilty."

She felt her heart sink, unable to believe that this was justice and yet knowing that really, any other verdict had never been in the running.

"Very well," the judge said, "Grey Owl, you have been found guilty of the rape of Mrs Martha Lawrence. I therefore sentence you to be taken from here to a place of execution and be hung by the neck until you be dead, dead, dead."

There was a cheer from the men in the saloon.

"Got the gallows ready," Jake said, "Let's be havin' him."

The crowd surged forward and a number of people grabbed hold of Grey Owl, hauling him towards the door of the saloon, Alan Lawrence the leader. Sully darted out after them, followed by most of the other patrons, bar those who really didn't have the stomach to watch a man choke to death. Emma Jane, torn, thumped down the bottle of whiskey she was holding and rushed outside after them, in time to see Grey Owl being frogmarched down the street to where the gallows had been constructed.

Reverend Johnston pushed through the crowd and ran up the stairs of the gallows, holding his Bible, preparing to read a few words before the execution.

"Save yer breath Rev," Hank said, "Ain't gonna need it where he's goin'."

The Reverend ignored him and began to read, "Lord, forgive us for our sins…"

Jake and Alan pulled Grey Owl up the steps to the rope and tied the noose around his neck. Emma Jane stood on the porch of the saloon, her insides churning. Half of her wanted to say something, but the other half knew there would be little her one voice could do. The town had made up its mind, it had decided on the evidence, however flawed it had been and however preconceived their minds had been. She watched as Grey Owl allowed the noose to be placed around his neck, wondering why he wasn't fighting, screaming that he was innocent.

"Would you like to do the honours?" Jake said to Alan.

Alan grinned, "That I would." He moved forward to the lever and was about to throw it, when a voice screamed from the back of the crowd.

"Stop!"

Everyone turned in time to see Martha Lawrence hurtle forward, Michaela close behind her, "Stop, stop this now!"

"Martha?" Alan queried, "What the hell are you doin'?"

"You can't do this! You can't kill this man! He's innocent!" Shockwaves rippled through the crowd, "I was wrong! It wasn't him! He didn't attack me!"

"Rubbish!" Jake yelled, "We know it was him!"

"It wasn't, I tell you, it wasn't him!" Martha shouted back, "He didn't hurt me!"

"Martha, you're upset," Alan said, "But this is the way the law works around here. You get found guilty, you hang!" There was a cheer of agreement.

"No!" Martha said, "I won't let you do this! This man did not attack me! It was a white man."

"White man?" Hank asked, "Since when?"

"Since always! I was raped by a white man!" She whirled around, "and she knows it!" Martha pointed a shaky finger at Emma Jane, who was standing frozen.

Everyone turned to look at Emma Jane.

"What ya talkin' about?" Loren demanded.

"Emma Jane came to see me. I told her the truth about what happened," Martha held Emma Jane's gaze, her eyes defiant, "I told her it was a white man!"

Hank looked at his wife, "Emma Jane?"

"I…I don't know what she's talking about!" Emma Jane replied, "I spoke to her, yes, but…"

"You know the truth!" Martha yelled, "You know the truth because…" she paused, as if trying to work up the courage to say it, "You know because he raped you too!"

"That's a lie! She's upset about what happened to her, anyone would be! It's just the shock talking," Emma Jane stepped forward quickly as everyone looked at her again, "I…"

"It's not a lie!" Michaela spoke up, "It's the truth." Jake and Alan exchanged looks. Hank looked as though he'd been hit by a stagecoach. "Emma Jane told me that it was a white man…and that she was attacked too." Michaela knew she was violating confidentiality, but there was more at stake at this moment than pride.

Hank pushed through the crowd and stood in front of his wife, "This true?"

Emma Jane looked at him, her eyes wide and frightened, tears hovering beneath thelids. Behind him, she could see the other townsfolk looking at her, exchanging whispers, staring at her as if she weresome kind of heathen."Hank…"

"I said is it true!" he yelled at her. She nodded fearfully andhe set his jaw grimly, "Git in the saloon."

She didn't move.

"I said, git in!" He grabbed her arm and hauled her back inside, leaving the town, Sully and Grey Owl, stunned.


	6. Chapter Six

**All the usual disclaimers!**

**I hope that people haven't found Emma Jane too dislikable in this story and that they can understand why she's done what she's done. Also, hope you can understand both Hank and EJ's reactions in this chapter. Always pleased to hear what people think about the characters' behaviour!**

Hank threw open the door of the saloon and yanked Emma Jane in behind him. The few customers who had remained inside looked up at the entrance, Jessica paused as she was about to sit on an older man's lap.

"Git out!" Hank yelled at them all. They all stared back at him, "Now!"

Exchanging glances, the men got to their feet and made their way uneasily past Hank, who looked as though he was about to explode, and outside. The girls hovered nervously.

"Git upstairs," he ordered them and, knowing better than to argue, Jessica and the others scuttled away upstairs, leaving Hank and Emma Jane alone in the saloon. He stood with his back to her and Emma Jane wrung her hands nervously behind him.

"Hank…"

"Is it true?" he repeated quietly, although he already knew the answer.

"Yes," Emma Jane replied equally as quietly, "It's true."

"You were attacked by the same man that attacked Martha Lawrence?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"The night before it happened to Martha," the words came tumbling out, "The night before you came home from Soda Springs."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to," she replied honestly, "there was nothing I wanted more, but…but I couldn't. I was afraid of what people would say about me. I saw how they reacted to Martha. And…I was worried about what you might do. I saw how riled up you got about what happened to Martha and…I was afraid of what you might say."

"'Bout ya lyin with another man or 'bout ya just lyin'?" He turned around to face her.

"I didn't lie with him, Hank," she replied, "he forced me. That's what rape is!"

"Don't talk to me like I'm simple," he threatened her, "What happened?"

"I was taking out the trash when…he just grabbed me from behind and dragged me to the stable and…" she sighed heavily, "he was drunk, maybe if I hadn't served him as much whiskey…"

"Ya knew him?" Hank latched onto this.

She nodded, "He was drinking in here before. It took us a while to get him to leave, but I…I thought he had gone. I never expected him to come back. But…" she started to cry, "but he threw me on the ground and…and he forced himself inside of me…"

"Don't wanna hear it," Hank said, striding behind the bar and pouring himself a whiskey. He downed it in one and looked hard at her, "That why you bin so cold to me?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Ya know exactly what I mean, Emma Jane," he replied angrily, "Bin turnin' yer back on me, pushin' me away, actin' like ya don't want me anymore. Every time I try to touch ya, ya either hit me, tell me yer too tired or act like it's a chore."

"And do you know why?" she asked, unable to believe that was all he could think about, "Because every time you touch me, all I can think about is him. About what he did to me! You have no idea what it's been like for me these past few days!"

"That's real nice," he replied acerbically, "Comparin' me to a man that raped ya."

"That's not what I meant," she replied trying to catch his arm as he strode past her.

"Tell me this," he rounded on her, "how did Michaela know?"

"When I fainted in Loren's store and she examined me, she found the injuries."

"Injuries?"

Emma Jane nodded, "The bruising, and she said I had some inflammation…inside."

"She examined ya?"

"Yes."

"So what's the verdict?" he asked her pointedly, "he leave behind somethin' I should be worried about, like a little bug…or a little bastard?"

Emma Jane slapped him hard across the face and instantly, he hit her back, a blow that sent her crashing into the bar, winding her. He had only ever done it once before, two years earlier, and then, he had been full of remorse, begged for her forgiveness and promised it would never happen again. This time, he did none of those things. His eyes were cold and he didn't seem sorry.

"How…could you…say that?" she asked, trying to catch her breath, "how could you think…?"

"Didn't think ya'd ever lie to me an' ya did," he replied, "Don't know what to think any more."

"I didn't lie!"

"Ya didn't tell me neither! Made me look a fool in front of everybody!"

"So that's what really matters, is it? You looking foolish in front of everyone? It doesn't matter that I was violated and humiliated, oh no. As long as you can keep face in this town!" She held her hand to her burning cheek.

"That sure as hell seems to be yer problem!" he retaliated, "Ya didn't want anyone to know what had happened to ya, how's that any different?" She didn't have an answer, "S'ides, that ain't what I'm sayin'."

"Well it certainly sounds that way!" She latched back on to his faults, grateful to escape from her own.

Hank sighed, "What did he say to ya?"

"Nothing. Not during the attack anyway."

"What about earlier?"

Emma Jane shrugged, "Well, he…talked a bit, I suppose. Asked me how I was, that kind of thing."

"That kind of thing?"

"I don't know!" she threw up her hands, "He was just another customer, Hank. The kind that you seem to like having in this place!"

"What ya sayin'?" he asked dangerously, "Ya blamin' me? Tryin' to make out that it's my fault?" He wasn't sure who he was really yelling at, her or himself.

"Well it isn't mine!" she shouted back, "I didn't ask for any of this to happen, Hank, none of it! I didn't ask to be attacked, and I didn't ask for there to be a trial and I didn't ask for Grey Owl to be found guilty and I didn't ask for Martha Lawrence to scream about what happened to me in the street!"

"Didn't do nothin' to stop it, though, did ya? Didn't speak up when we was havin' the trial. Didn't say that the Injun couldn't have done it, did ya?" he growled at her, "Maybe's ya were flirtin' with him."

"What? Who?"

"This guy. Seen the way ya act with the customers, Emma Jane. Ya don't sell it, but yer sure good at puttin' it on show."

Emma Jane was dumbfounded, "You…you…he was just another man, another drunken man that I have to _pretend_ to be nice to, to encourage to drink more so that _you _can make a profit and never mind the consequences to me or the girls! You think I like smiling and talking with men that I find so utterly repulsive! Men who spend all their time drinking and smoking and gambling and partaking of the 'hospitality'?"

"Men like me, ya mean," he said squarely.

"They're pathetic!" she raged at him, "They shouldn't be allowed to call themselves men!"

"Sayin' I ain't a man?"

"What kind of man blames his wife when she gets raped? What kind of man won't understand, won't comfort her, won't be there for her!" Emma Jane sobbed, "If you can't do that, Hank, then no, you're not any kind of man!"

"No?" he lunged at her and pushed her up against the bar, forcing her legs apart with his knee and pinning her arms to her sides, "Well, maybe I should just rape ya too! Ya don't seem to like it when I'm gentle and nice so maybe I's just force ya too, huh? Ya like that!" he yelled in her face.

"Stop it!" Emma Jane screamed, struggling in his grip, "Get off me!" She pushed him away and they stood facing one another, "How can you treat me like this! How can you say you love me and then turn around and treat me like I'm…"

"Like yer what? One of the 'girls'?" he sneered at her, "Ya might think yer better than them because ya come from New York, ya were raised with table manners and ya spent all yer time goin' to shows and parties, but let me tell you, _Mrs _Lawson," he came up close to her again, "Git yer skirts up an' yer legs apart and ya ain't no better than any of 'em."

"You're disgusting!" Emma Jane screamed at him, "I should never have come here! If I'd stayed in New York, none of this would ever have happened! I'd be married to some nice, rich man, living in a nice house with nice clothes and a nice life! Instead, I'm stuck here with a violent, aggressive brute like you in this hell-hole!"

"Well maybe ya should just leave then!" he yelled back, "Fact is, maybe ya should have left all them years ago when ya had the chance! If it's so bad here, why stay? Go back to New York, Emma Jane! Live the life ya were _supposed _to!"

At that moment, Jessica appeared at the door, "Emma Jane?"

"Git out!" Hank turned and yelled at her.

"Don't you speak to her like that!" Emma Jane shouted.

Hank advanced on Jessica, who stepped back, "I said, git back up them stairs!"

"Stop it!" Emma Jane grabbed Hank's arm and pulled him back, "I hate how you speak to her! I hate how you speak to all of them! You abuse the girls who live here, you abuse me – your own wife! You're no better than that rapist!" He whirled around to fight her off, grabbing her wrists and twisting them painfully, dragging her across the room, forcing her to her knees on the floor in front of him.

Hank raised his hand as if to strike her and Emma Jane steeled herself for the blow. But it didn't come. All of a sudden, he released her and her arms dropped to her lap as he stepped back from her, breathing heavily. Emma Jane sat looking up at him for a moment, before he went back to the bar and poured himself another drink.

Jessica, still cowering in the corner, spoke up, "Vicky's fussin'," she explained, her voice unsteady "thought…ya might be able to calm her down."

Emma Jane nodded and got to her feet, "I'll be up in a minute," she told the other girl, her breath coming in short bursts from fear and adrenaline. Jessica nodded and then ran back up the stairs.

Emma Jane turned back to her husband, "Is this how it's going to be?" she asked, "You blame me, we fight and you hurt me?" Hank didn't reply, "Because I won't live like that, Hank, I assure you. I don't deserve that. I may have lied to you and not told you about what had happened, but I don't deserve the way you're treating me now. And if you think I do, then we have a problem. I've already been abused by one man, I'm not about to allow the man I married to abuse me too." She pushed her loose hair back from her face, "I'm going to go and see to our daughter."

She left the room, leaving Hank standing, holding his glass. After a moment, he threw it hard against the opposite wall, so that it smashed into a thousand pieces.

When she reached Victoria's room, Emma Jane closed the door behind her and leant against it for a long moment, closing her eyes briefly. Her face ached from where he had hit her and when she looked down at her wrists, she saw the red marks left by his hands. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest as she stepped forward and lifted Victoria up. Holding her to her, she breathed in her familiar baby smell and felt it begin to relax her.

At that moment, however, the door flew open and Hank appeared in the doorway. Emma Jane stepped back towards the bed, hugging her child to her. He still looked angry, and she was afraid of him, afraid of what he might do to her.

He looked at her for a long time before speaking, "What'd he look like?"

"What?" she asked, momentarily confused.

"The guy," he asked, "What'd he look like?"

"Uh…tall, dark hair, blue eyes…black pants and hat…I…I don't really remember, why?"

He didn't answer her, instead, he turned away from the door.

Emma Jane put Victoria back down in her bed and hurried after him, "Why do you want to know?" she called after him, "What are you going to do?"

"Never ya mind," he replied tautly.

"I _do _mind!" she said, "I mind if you're planning on riding out after him and maybe getting yourself hurt, or worse!"

Hank laughed, but there was no mirth behind it, "So, ya actually care about what happens to me?" he turned to face her.

"Of course I do," she replied, "You're my husband, I love you, and I don't want to see you get hurt over something foolish like revenge."

"Ya think it's foolish?" he checked his gun, "It ain't foolish."

"It is!" she insisted, "Riding off like some…some…vigilante, killing a man over it?"

"It's about loyalty, Emma Jane, protecting yer own. What kinda man would I be if I didn't go after him? Oh, wait," he paused, "I ain't a man, right?"

"That's not what I said, and you know it!" Emma Jane protested, "I don't want this! I don't want you to go after him!"

"Ain't about what _you _want!" he replied angrily, "It's about doin' what's right. Sure Jake and Loren'll come with me." He headed out through the bar, Emma Jane in hot pursuit.

"Please, don't!" she cried, grabbing his arm.

He swung around and pushed her back, "Don't make me hurt ya," he warned quietly.

"You've already done that, I'm not scared of it," she replied boldly.

"Ya should be."

He turned and pushed through the saloon doors, back out into the street where a number of people were still milling around. There was no sign of Sully or Grey Owl, and Emma Jane assumed they had made a sharp exit as soon as his guilt had been brought into question. She watched as Hank conversed briefly with Jake and Loren and then they turned to head for their horses. A few customers, having seen Hank leave and assuming the danger was over, started to make their way back into the saloon and she resumed serving.

As the day stretched on into night, there was no sign of Hank returning, and Emma Jane started to grow worried. There was a subdued air about the saloon, which unnerved her and meant she couldn't lose track of time in the hustle and bustle. The customers were all still stunned by the events of the day, and many regarded her warily as she moved around the saloon. The girls also seemed rather quiet and Emma Jane suspected Jessica had told them all about what had happened.

As she closed the doors for the night, Emma Jane turned to see Jessica hovering by the stairs.

"It's ok," she told her, "I'll finish clearing up."

"If yer sure," Jessica replied.

"Yes, honestly. Go to bed," Emma Jane waved her away, "Could you just look in on Victoria on your way past?"

"Sure," Jessica replied, before heading back upstairs.

Emma Jane cleared away the dirty glasses and swept the floor, all the time going to the window and looking out in the hope that she might see Hank approaching. To no avail. Once she had done as much cleaning as could be justified, she made her way upstairs into her room and got ready for bed. As she pulled her dress off, she glanced down and saw her bruises were beginning to change colour. They were the only outside mark that anything had happened to her. All the other suffering was internal.

She climbed into bed, but knew she would never be able to sleep, so she lifted one of the terrible dime novels that Loren stocked in the store and flicked through a few pages, yet was unable to take her mind off of everything that had happened.

It was around one o'clock before she heard the sound of horses hooves and, hurrying to the window, she saw Jake, Loren and Hank arrive back in town. They dismounted outside the saloon and spoke amongst themselves for a few moments, before parting company. She saw Hank lead his horse around the back of the saloon and climbed back into bed.

She heard the sound of the back door opening and closing, heard him pouring a drink and then his footfalls on the stairs. She heard the sound of a door creak and knew he had looked in on Victoria. She scrambled down under the covers, not sure whether to pretend to be asleep or not when he came in. They had so much they needed to talk about, and she wasn't even sure where to begin.

Emma Jane listened as Hank closed Victoria's door and approached their own door. Then there was a pause, and his steps moved to one side. There was the sound of another door opening and closing and muffled voices, one she could definitely recognise as her husband's. The other was higher-pitched and there was a confused, worried tone to it before there was silence.

That was when Emma Jane realised that instead of coming to her bed, Hank had gone to Jessica's.


	7. Epilogue

**Well, here it is folks, the final chapter - enjoy.**

**All the usual disclaimers!**

"I didn't hear you come in last night," Emma Jane lied the following morning when she found Hank in the kitchen.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"What happened?" she asked nervously, "Did you…find him?"

Hank shook his head, "Nope. Rode to Soda Springs and they said some woman got attacked there too," he looked at her, "She ain't in a good way."

Emma Jane lowered her head and set about making herself some tea, "So…what now?"

"Could be halfway to Washington by now. Got a warrant out fer him. Hopefully someone'll notice him and turn him in," Hank lit a cigarette and blew smoke towards her.

"So…it's over," she said.

Hank looked up at her, "Yeah," he replied softly, "Guess it is." With that, he stood up and walked out of the kitchen. Emma Jane watched him go, wanted to scream at him that she knew what he had done, knew that he had betrayed her, wanted to hit him until he hurt the way she did. But she did none of those things. Instead, she stood holding her cup redundantly in her hand.

At that moment, Jessica appeared in the doorway and paused when she saw Emma Jane. She looked uncomfortable and pulled her shawl tighter around her thin shoulders.

"Mornin'," she said.

"Good morning, Jessica," Emma Jane replied, "tea?"

"Uh…yes, yes please," the younger girl replied, stepping into the kitchen and glancing around, "how…how are ya?"

"Fine," Emma Jane replied carefully, pouring Jessica some tea. "How are you?"

"I'm…fine," she accepted the cup, "Hank…came back then?"

"Yes, but he said they didn't manage to find the man," Emma Jane told her, "but another woman was hurt in Soda Springs."

Jessica's eyes grew wide, "Really?" Emma Jane nodded, "That's terrible!" She looked at Emma Jane guiltily, "Sorry, didn't mean to make it sound like…"

"Don't worry about it," Emma Jane replied, sitting down at the table.

Jessica paused and then joined her. She sat, twisting her cup around and around in her hands, as if working up the nerve to say something. Emma Jane let her sweat. After what seemed like hours, she finally spoke, "Emma Jane…"

"It's all right," Emma Jane interrupted her.

Jessica looked at her, "Ya don't know what I'm goin' to say."

"Yes I do," Emma Jane looked at her, "You're going to tell me that Hank came to you last night, aren't you?" Jessica looked down at the table, "It's all right, Jessica."

"No it ain't," Jessica moaned, "Shoulda said no, shoulda…"

"And what if you had? He would have hurt you," Emma Jane admitted, "We both know what he's like."

"Seems to have hit him hard, this business about what happened to ya."

"Yes, it has."

"I just wanted ya to know that…well…I didn't want him to…"

"I know," Emma Jane stood up. Despite hearing and accepting Jessica's apology, it still caused her pain to think about her husband making love to another woman. She smiled briefly at her before heading out into the bar where Hank was watering down the whiskey before opening. "If the customers caught you doing that, there would be a riot," she joked lamely.

He didn't look up, "Guess it's a good thing we're closed then, ain't it?"

"Hank…we need to talk."

"Bout what?" he blew smoke out lazily.

"You know what about. About everything that happened. And…about yesterday."

"Got stuff to do today," he told her.

"Like what?"

"Stuff that ain't yer business."

"I'm…I'm just interested, that's all."

"Well don't be. Ain't got nothin' to do with ya." He stopped what he was doing and made to move past her to the door.

"I know what you did," she said boldly.

Hank turned to face her, "What ya talkin' about?"

"I know you spent the night with Jessica, I'm not stupid," she replied, "Did you think that was a way to make things even between us?" He looked down at the ground, "I lay with someone else, albeit against my will, so you had to do the same?"

"She's one of my girls. I own her and I can do what I like with her," he said, "Ain't nothin' ya can do about it." He turned on his heel and pushed open the doors onto the porch. But he got no pleasure from his words and Emma Jane couldn't see him close his eyes and kick the wall in self-loathing.

SSSSS

"As you know, folks, it's the annual picnic tomorrow," Reverend Johnston informed his faithful parishioners at church the following morning, "There's going to be lots of fun and games for the children, and maybe even for the adults," a titter ran through the congregation, "The pie-baking contest will go ahead as usual and I know the judges are looking forward to some excellent entries this year." There was a round of applause, "Now, let's join our voices and sing, 'All Things Bright and Beautiful.'

Emma Jane stood with the rest of the congregation, but she couldn't find the voice to sing. It had been a chore coming to church that morning, and she had almost decided not to bother. But then it had occurred to her that by not going, she would only be inciting the gossipmongers in town to talk about her more. So, she had donned her best dress and carried on regardless. Unfortunately, Martha Lawrence had also chosen this particular day to attend church and the two women came face to face at the door on the way in.

"Good morning, Martha," Emma Jane had greeted her cautiously.

Martha's look had been one of pure ice, and she and Alan had gone on inside without so much as returning the greeting. The Reverend, having noticed the exchange, clasped Emma Jane's hand in his.

"Good to see you this morning, Emma Jane," he had said warmly.

"Thank you, Reverend," she had replied weakly, moving into the interior. She had sat in her usual seat, but Mrs Peterson, the old woman who usually sat next to her, had not been her normal chatty self. Instead, she had smiled briefly at her before turning to talk to someone else.

"Surely what I did wasn't so bad!" she wanted to scream out at all of them. But she didn't, she kept her counsel and what was left of her dignity.

As the service concluded, she didn't wait around to speak to anyone afterwards, instead making her way hurriedly back across the grass to town. As she walked, she heard Horace call to her from behind.

"Emma Jane!" She turned around, "Glad I caught ya," he said, "this came for ya, from New York."

"Thank you, Horace," she replied, taking the letter from him. It was in her brother's handwriting, and she tore it open, eager to read words of comfort.

XXXX

Dear Emma Jane,

I apologise for not having responded to your last letter with more haste, but things here have been rather chaotic since I received your letter. Poor Sarah contracted influenza which naturally sent poor Arthur into another fit of depression. He was terrified that he was about to lose his daughter so soon after poor Lydia. However, Doctor O'Neil was most kind and Sarah is now well on the way to being back to normal. She and Lucy are asking for you most kindly and enquiring as to when they might see you and Victoria again. They so enjoyed their trip to Colorado Springs, but it is most definitely your turn to come home. Won't you come to New York to see us all? I know Father would like it too.

Mother is, I'm afraid to say, the same as always. She refuses to discuss you in any shape or form, no matter how hard Father and I try. I believe she is so set in her ways now that nothing will alter her manner and for that I am most truly sorry. How I wish we could all be the happy family we once were.

Anyway, I must dash. There's an important meeting at the bank today and Father insists I attend – worse luck! Please write back quickly and please come to see us soon.

We all love and miss you dearly,

Thomas.

XXXX

Emma Jane held the letter against her chest, soaking in the kind words. She expected no less from her mother and her insults no longer mattered. But in a time where she now felt so alienated by the town, and by her husband, it was a comfort to know that someone still wanted to see her.

She arrived back at the saloon in time to witness a man come flying out of the door and land in a heap on the ground in front of her. Another quickly followed suit and Hank appeared behind them, his threatening manner daring them to try and come back inside.

"Git lost!" he yelled at them, and the two scrambled to their feet and bolted back up the street. He turned to look at her, "What ya gawkin' at?"

"Nothing," she replied, "What's going on?"

"Just a coupla drunks who don't understand that the girls git Sunday's off." With that, he turned and walked back inside.

Emma Jane followed him inside, not noticing the spilt beer and broken glass until it was too late. She slipped and landed heavily on her bottom. A few of the men in the saloon chuckled under their breath, but didn't offer to help her.

Hank was instantly by her side, "Ya all right?" he helped her up.

"Ow, no," she replied, lifting her arm up to reveal a cut on her forearm.

He touched her arm gently, "Best go see Doctor Mike."

"She's probably still socialising at the church," Emma Jane replied, trying and failing to keep a note of bitterness out of her voice. "I can probably fix it myself." She moved past him and hurried into the kitchen, lifting a damp cloth and pressing it to her arm. "Ow…" she winced at the pain. "So stupid!" she raged at herself, "perfect end to a perfect week!"

"What is?" Jessica asked, coming into the kitchen behind her, "Oh Lord, Emma Jane!" she gasped at the sight of the blood, "What happened?"

"I slipped and cut it on some glass," she replied.

"Ya should go see Doctor Mike."

"I would if she was there."

"She is. Just saw her come back from church."

Emma Jane hurried past her, back through the bar and outside onto the street. She made her way over to the clinic and rang the bell.

Michaela answered the door, "Emma Jane? What happened?" she asked, catching sight of her arm.

"Let's just say that spilt beer and broken glass are a deadly combination," Emma Jane replied wryly, sitting down on the bed and taking the cloth off of her arm, "How bad is it?"

Michaela examined her, "You have a shard embedded in the wound which I'll have to remove, and you'll need a few stitches. Apart from that, you should be fine."

"Thank you," Emma Jane replied quietly. She remained silent while Michaela worked, only grimacing slightly as the glass was carefully removed and gritting her teeth as the stitches were sewn in, "It seems as though I've never been out of here recently," she joked.

Michaela smiled, "You do seem to be having a bad time of it." Her smile dropped as she thought back over the events of the last few days, "There you go, that should be fine."

"Thank you," Emma Jane reached into her purse and took out some money, "Will that cover it?"

"Yes," Michaela replied, "Emma Jane…?" the latter turned to face her, "If you want to talk…about what happened…"

"I appreciate it," Emma Jane cut her off, "thank you again." She opened the door of the clinic and stepped back outside into the morning sunshine. Hank was on the saloon porch and she made her way over to him.

"What did the doc say?" he asked her.

"She removed the glass and patched me up," she replied, "she said I should be fine." She stepped onto the porch beside him, "I suppose that'll teach me to look where I'm going."

He smiled at her, "Ya always just go barrellin' in. Should look before ya leap."

She smiled back at him, "I suppose you're right." She held his gaze for a long moment, those piercing blue eyes looking directly into hers. For the first time since her attack, she felt an overwhelming sense of desire and she moved forward to allow him to envelop her in his arms.

But Hank stepped back and the moment was gone, "Got customers," he said before turning and walking back into the saloon, leaving her standing quite alone.

SSSS

The day seemed unending. After lunch, Emma Jane took Victoria out to the meadow, watching as the preparations were being made for the picnic the following day. She remembered last year's event as if it were yesterday. The three of them together on a blanket, Victoria crawling about, gurgling happily, Hank gently kissing her neck at every opportunity, playfully reminding her what he was going to do to her when they got back home. It had been a happy day, a happy time, one which she had taken for granted would be the same forever. Now, she was no longer sure about anything.

"Afternoon, Emma Jane!" Grace greeted her cheerfully.

"Hello, Grace," she replied, "how are you?"

"Oh fine, fine. Busy gettin' ready for tomorrow. I got so much cookin' to do I don't know where to start," she laughed, "You and Hank gonna be there I presume? And this little angel," she tickled Victoria playfully.

"I'm…not sure," Emma Jane replied.

"But you've gotta come!" Grace seemed shocked, "Ain't gonna be the same without you!"

"I'm not so sure the rest of the town would agree with you."

Grace waved her hand, "They'll get over it, folks do. You know the hassle Robert E and I have had over these last few years, you've seen it. But things change, people change, people move on. Soon things just become part of the past." She touched the other woman's arm, "Remember that."

Emma Jane nodded to appease Grace, but in her own heart, she knew the other woman didn't really know what was happening for her. When she got back to the saloon, Hank was nowhere to be seen.

"He's upstairs," Jessica told her.

Emma Jane made her way up the stairs carrying Victoria in her arms. Her daughter was almost fast asleep, exhausted from the afternoon's excursion and Emma Jane put her down to sleep in her bed. Then she went into her bedroom to find Hank sitting on the bed.

"Hello," she greeted him. "Victoria's fast asleep. What are you doing up here?"

He shrugged, "Thinkin'."

"About what?"

"I have to tell ya everythin'?" he said angrily, turning to look at her.

"No," she replied, taken aback, "I was only asking."

"Well don't bother," he got up and made to move past her to the door, but she caught his arm.

"Hank…" she turned him to face her, "Can't we…I mean, I want to…" she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. For the briefest of moments, he responded to her, but all too suddenly he pushed her away from him.

"Can't," he said, throwing open the door,"can't."

SSSSS

He managed to avoid her spectacularly for the rest of the day, never staying one place long enough for her to be able to talk to him, never catching her eye, never even looking in her direction. It hurt, more than anything she ever thought could, because she knew his behaviour was more about her lying than about the attack itself.

When the saloon finally closed and she had put Victoria to bed for the night, Emma Jane made her way back downstairs to the now deserted bar, where she suspected her husband was drowning his sorrows. She was right.

"Hank…" Emma Jane approached where he was sitting at a table in the middle of the saloon drinking what she could only imagine was at least his fifth or sixth whiskey. He looked up drunkenly as she approached, but he said nothing, "We need to talk," she said, feeling as though she was repeating herself, "but it seems as though every time I try to get through to you, you're always angry, or distant…or drunk," she gestured to the bottle in front of him, "You won't listen to anything I have to say about what happened." She took a deep breath, "But you're going to listen now."

Hank watched her, still saying nothing.

"I'm sorry for what I did. I know it seems as though I've said it a hundred times, but it's true, and I mean it. I should have told you right from the start what had happened, that very morning you came home. I should never have pretended that nothing had happened and I should never have let it go on as long. I mean," she laughed bitterly, "I turned Martha's grief right on its head and smacked her hard with it. I threatened her into lying at the trial, telling her that no-one would believe her, just to spare my own embarrassment." She looked down at her hands, which she was nervously rubbing together. "That was wrong. I should have spoken up at the beginning. We could have worked through things together and Grey Owl would never have been almost hung."

"Only an Injun," he mumbled.

She ignored his comment, "I've wanted to open up to you. I've wanted us to be able to discuss this…thing that happened to me like adults. I've wanted you to hold me, and comfort me and tell me that it wasn't my fault, that everything will be all right. But I went about it the wrong way and in doing so, I made you feel as though I don't want you when the truth is, I do, more than anything."

Hank poured another whiskey.

"I know that you think I've regressed, gone back to the…frightened, trembling person in bed that I was when I first married you. That I've lost the feelings, the sensations that I learned to love when I was with you, all because some man, some _evil _man, decided to show me that an act which I associated with love can also be one perpetrated with fear. I want to get back to the way we were, you have to know how much I want that. I tried, more than once to make you see how much I want to be with you." She looked at him, hoping he would say something to show he understood, that he agreed. But he said nothing.

"But…" she paused, "over the last few days, I've come to realise that maybe that can't ever happen. Maybe you can't ever see me the way you used to. Maybe I really am…tainted in your eyes." She could feel tears welling up, "But I didn't betray you willingly, and you did," the tears spilled over and her voice shook, "You betrayed me by spending the night with Jessica, and if you did it to hurt me, you succeeded. And right now, that's like a great big…thorn…in the side of our marriage, one that I can't get passed, just as you can't seem to get passed me being attacked." She swallowed against the lump in her throat, "So…I think it might be best if I go away for a while. Give you some time to…" she wasn't even sure what time would do for him. She pulled Thomas's letter from her pocket, "I got this from Thomas this morning, wanting to know how I am, how we all are. He's full of news about Sarah and Lucy and my parents." Emma Jane looked at her husband, "He wanted to know if there was any chance I could perhaps visit them. So, I think…I think I might go to New York…for a while…to see them and…to give us both a chance to…clear our heads."

Hank looked up at her and she held his gaze, but she saw nothing in his expression that indicated he wanted her to stay.

"The stage leaves for Denver in the morning," she told him, "I thought…sooner rather than later."

He nodded drunkenly, "Don't deserve ya now anyway."

In her troubled mental state, Emma Jane took this to mean that she was no longer worthy of being Hank's wife, without thinking for a moment that it could be the other way around.

"No," she replied sadly, "I suppose you don't." With that, she turned on her heel and made her way back over to the stairs. Then she stopped and turned back around, "Of course…I'll be taking Victoria with me." He didn't say anything, so she turned and hurried up the stairs, sobs bursting forth from her chest with every step. When she reached their bedroom, she threw herself down on top of the bed and cried, not caring who might hear her.

SSSSS

"Mornin' Emma Jane," Loren greeted her warily the following morning as she entered his store to gather some things before she left.

"Good morning, Loren," she replied, looking around for what could be her last time. She lifted some candy for Victoria and another one of those terrible books that she had become so addicted to. The shops would be different in New York. There would be no need to wait weeks for the simplest of items to be available and she would be able to choose from a much wider variety. But her heart still ached at the thought of not being able to shop in 'Bray's Mercantile' any more. She took her purchases to the counter.

"I ordered that material for ya," Loren told her, "It should be here in a coupla weeks."

"Material?"

"That blue stuff ya liked in the catalogue."

She remembered ordering it, excitedly planning how she could make a dress for herself and one for Victoria. "Cancel it," she said calmly.

"Cancel?"

Emma Jane nodded and then looked at him for a long moment before speaking, "I know you blame me for what happened to Abigail. I know you think that if I had never come to town, she would never have run off with Sully and…" Loren looked uncomfortable, "I've never really told you that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened to her. I loved her dearly, Loren, you have to know that." Emma Jane felt her eyes well up again and she fought back the tears, "I'm leaving today."

"Leavin'?" he looked stunned.

She nodded, "I'm going back to New York for…for a while, and I want to go, knowing that we're parting on good terms."

"But…but why?" Loren asked.

"Many reasons," she replied vaguely, not wanting to go into them at that moment, "can we be friends?" she looked at him hopefully.

Loren, still taken aback, nodded, "Sure…sure, we're friends…"

"Thank you," she paid for her purchases and left the store before he could ask her any more. Back in the saloon, Jessica was sweeping the floor of the bar, and she looked up when Emma Jane pushed the door open.

"The girls are sayin' yer leavin'," she greeted her, "That true?"

Emma Jane sighed at the thought of having to go through the same tired conversation and explanation with all of the townsfolk, "Yes, it's true. I'm going to New York for a while."

"Is it cause of me and Hank?"

"No," she half-lied, "It's not. It's about me." She glanced around, "Have you seen Hank?"

Jessica shook her head, "He was upstairs with Vicky but that was a while ago."

Emma Jane thanked her and then moved upstairs to her daughter's bedroom. Victoria was sitting on the floor playing with some toys when her mother entered. There was no sign of Hank. Picking her up, Emma Jane held her close to her, this seemingly one good thing that had emerged from the wreck of her marriage. She carried her downstairs to the kitchen where her bags were ready and waiting.

"Yer leavin' now?" Jessica said. Emma Jane nodded, "But…I thought…I mean…"

"Will you carry Vicky out to the stage for me?" Emma Jane asked.

"Sure," Jessica put her broom down and lifted Victoria from her mother. Emma Jane lifted the two cases she had packed and led the way out of the saloon back into the street where the stagecoach was just pulling up outside Loren's store.

She held her head high, and ignored the stares she was receiving from people passing by. She knew they were talking about her, whispering about what she had done, and she did her best to block it out. The driver took her cases from her and stowed them on the roof of the stage.

"Need a hand up, ma'am?" he asked her.

Emma Jane was about to reply when she heard her name being called and turned to see Michaela hurrying towards her. She took a deep breath and turned to smile at the doctor.

"Good morning, Michaela."

Michaela looked surprised, "Are you leaving?"

"Well observed."

"I don't understand."

"Things…haven't gone so well since the trial," Emma Jane told her briefly, "Let's just say that Hank and I need some time apart."

"I'm sorry," Michaela said. "For the fact that you're leaving," she added.

"Not for speaking up against me?"

Michaela paused, "No, I'm not sorry for that. I did what I thought was right at the time. It wouldn't have been right to allow Grey Owl to hang."

"You're right," Emma Jane nodded, "I should have listened to you when you tried to tell me. But I didn't," she sighed, "and by lying, I've only made things ten times worse than I would have if I'd just told the truth from the start." She smiled wanly, "Next time, I promise I will take your advice."

"Are you coming back?" Michaela asked the loaded question.

Emma Jane glanced around back at the saloon, "Maybe. One day." She left it at that and took the driver's hand to help her into the stage. Jessica leaned in and handed Victoria to her before scuttling back across the street to watch from the saloon porch.

"Goodbye Michaela," Emma Jane held her hand out of the window.

Michaela shook it sadly, "Goodbye Emma Jane."

The driver cracked his whip and the stage shuddered forward. Emma Jane looked out of the window as it moved through the town where she had spent the last ten years of her life. As it passed the saloon, she thought about the last time she had left for Lydia's funeral, waving and blowing kisses at her husband, promising and knowing she would be back very soon. This time, it was so very different.

Hank watched from the saloon window as the stage rumbled past, taking the only woman he had ever loved, and their child, further and further away from him. If he hurried, he could stop it, could throw himself in front of the horses, force it to stop…force her to stay.

Instead, he turned back to the bar and opened another bottle of whiskey.

The End?

**Would I do that to you guys? Course not - another story coming soon!**


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